


Scandal

by littlebirdtold



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Humor, M/M, Regency, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-03
Updated: 2014-01-03
Packaged: 2018-01-07 08:21:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 37,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1117645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlebirdtold/pseuds/littlebirdtold
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A heavily damaged Enterprise ends up in another galaxy, nearby a planet called Regelence—a planet with a society similar to Regency England. They need to find a way to get back home, but it turns out it's easier said than done. Along the way, Jim ends up as a chaperone to a 16-year-old brat who is smitten with the Crown Prince, attends a ball, causes a scandal, gets thrown into the royal dungeons, takes people into hostage, steals a puppy, advises a teen on his love life, and tries to sort out his fucked up (but strictly professional) relationship with his First Officer. Jim's life is hard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scandal

 

**~*~**

 

 

Huh. He wasn't dead.  
  
Jim forced his eyes open and then tried to lift his head but immediately regretted it as a sharp pain shot through it. Shit. His head felt like someone was pounding on it with a sledgehammer. Hopefully he hadn't managed to finally break his skull — Bones would kill him.  Jim gingerly touched his head where it hurt the most and looked at his hand. No blood.  
  
Bracing himself against the pain, he sat up and looked around the bridge, trying to assess the damage. His ears were ringing and the annoying red alert lights were doing nothing for his head, but he could see that everyone seemed to be moving—crawling. Good. If they were crawling, they were alive.  
  
Jim forced his bruised body up from the deck, and dropped himself into the command chair with a groan. He stared at the main viewscreen in confusion. It was now showing an unremarkable reddish planet instead of the anomaly that had nearly ripped his ship apart.  
  
At least it didn't look like they were in danger anymore.  
  
He turned the chair to the science station, where his First Officer was already working his magic, looking as calm as he had before the ship had been dangerously close to being squashed like a bug.  
  
Jim scowled. It would have been nice of Spock to show some emotion for a change. It frustrated the hell out of him that Spock always remained so together even in most crappy situations—well, except for that one occasion they never really talked about.  
  
"Report, Mr. Spock."  
  
"Right now, we are not in immediate danger, Captain, but the ship has sustained severe damage," Spock said, not looking away from his screen. "Decks 3 and 4 more so than the others, and we have lost our warp drive. The impulse drive is damaged as well, but Mr. Scott is reporting that he can have it repaired in approximately nine days."  
  
Jim bit the inside of his cheek. "Anything else?"  
  
"The damage is quite extensive. I will write a detailed report after I gather more data from the departments and the Maintenance crew."  
  
"Good. What about the anomaly? Where the hell we—"  
  
"Keptin!" Chekov cut him off and Jim turned to him. The Ensign's eyes were huge. "According to my calculations, we aren't in Milky Way anymore!"  
  
Jim felt his mouth fall open. "Spock?"  
  
"Mr. Chekov is correct, Captain," Spock confirmed after a moment. "We appear to be…in Triangulum Galaxy, which is catalogued as Messier 33 or NGC 598, and is sometimes informally referred to as the Pinwheel Galaxy."  
  
Jim swore through his teeth. Weird shit happened to them all the time, but this was ridiculous even for them. They were in another galaxy, the  _Enterprise_ was heavily damaged,  _and_ they had no warp.  
  
Simply put, they were fucked.  
  
He bit his lip hard, thinking frantically. "What about the planet? Is it inhabitable?"  
  
"Negative," Spock said after a moment. "It is a Class H planet."  
  
Jim sighed. "Of course it is."  
  
"Captain!" Uhura cut in from her station. "There is another planet in this solar system—we just can't see it from our current position. And the planet is inhabited! Initial data indicates that they have a well-developed communication system."  
  
Jim stared at her. Inhabited. What were the odds of encountering an inhabited planet in another galaxy? And it wasn't necessarily a good thing. The natives could be—and, with their luck,  _would_ be—hostile.  
  
"Uhura, can you pick up their communications?"  
  
"I think so, sir, but I require some time to adjust the sensors."  
  
"Let me know when you do, Lieutenant." Jim turned to his first officer. "Spock, do you have more data about the planet? Are the natives developed enough to have space ships? Can they detect us?"  
  
Spock's fingers were already flying over his console. "They are certainly sufficiently developed, Captain. I am detecting four starships in orbit, all significantly larger than the  _Enterprise_. The planet also appears to have a spaceport on the surface, but I cannot confirm how many ships are docked there."  
  
Dammit.

"Are there any signs that they detected us?" Jim said, drumming his fingers over the armrest.  
  
"I do not think so, Captain. We are positioned very close to the Class H planet. Its magnetic field should be sufficient to hide the Enterprise from their sensors."  
  
"Just like Titan that time," Chekov added.  
  
Spock inclined his head. "Indeed."  
  
"Captain!" Uhura exclaimed, her usually calm voice full of excitement. "I picked up a few comm signals! It's odd, but—the natives seem to speak English!"  
  
Jim's eyes bugged out.  " _What_?!"  
  
"The colloquialisms and slang are a bit different, but it's undoubtedly English," Uhura said, looking like she could hardly believe it herself. "I'll need more time to adjust the sensors better to get a stable connection, but I'm sure of it! Just give me time; I'll gather more data on the planet's culture and history to find out more about this."  
  
"Do it," Jim managed, his mind reeling. "Gather as much data as you can, Lieutenant."  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
Jim rubbed his forehead. God, his head was killing him. "Spock, contact Scotty and find out if there is even the slightest chance that we can repair our warp drive soon. We need warp."  
  
"Aye, Captain."  
  
"Any ideas how we ended up here and how to go back?"  
  
After a few moments, Spock replied carefully, "I require more time, Captain."  
  
"All right. A briefing in— four hours," Jim said. "Red alert off."  
  
The annoying siren and lights were finally turned off, and Jim opened the communication to sickbay. "Casualties, Bones?" There were always casualties.  
  
He heard McCoy sigh.  _"Six dead, twenty-eight injured."_  
  
Jim closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. "I'll need a full report. Briefing in four hours."  
  
He turned the comm off and pinched the bridge of his nose. Fuck it, he had no time for breaks. He had a job to do.  
  
Jim took his PADD and started going through the hundreds inquiries from departments requiring his attention.

 

 

~*~

 

  
Jim dropped in the chair at the head of the briefing table, trying not to show how shitty and worn out he felt. He couldn't let Bones notice anything. He was sure Spock had noticed – hell, Spock probably had already calculated how much his efficiency was lowered — but Spock always noticed these things and Jim wasn't very worried he would call him on that. He and Spock... They weren't exactly the kind of friends to mother hen each other.  
  
Jim's lips twisted at the thought. Actually, they weren't exactly _friends_. Not really.  
  
"Mr. Spock, let's begin with your report."  
  
"Very well, Captain," Spock said before addressing all of them — Jim, Bones, Uhura and Scotty. "As you already have been informed, we are in the Triangulum Galaxy. The Triangulum Galaxy, also known as M33, or NGC 598, is the next closest spiral galaxy to the Milky Way beyond the Andromeda Galaxy, located approximately 2,700,000 light years from the Alpha Quadrant at its closest point. Not much is known about this galaxy due to its distance from ours. It appears the anomaly that we encountered 4.3 hours ago served as a bridge between the galaxies. Unfortunately, the anomaly is either unstable or works only one way."  
  
Jim's stomach twisted. He didn't like this already. "Clarify."  
  
Spock's dark eyes fixed on him. "My meaning is that there are no signs of the anomaly's existence in this galaxy. I have scanned the area with long-range sensors, to no avail."  
  
"And here I thought we'd just get back the way we came," McCoy muttered sarcastically. "Well, can't we travel back the normal way?"  
  
"We have no warp, Bones," Jim said flatly. "And we’re in another galaxy _._ "  
  
"Yes," Spock said, his eyes solemn. "Even if we had warp drive, the distance to Milky Way is too great. A Constitution-class starship running at maximum warp would take thousands of years to complete the journey to Milky Way."

The fact that Spock hadn't even bothered to tell them how many years exactly it would take made Jim's stomach churn. It just didn't feel right.  
  
"You mean we're stuck  here?" Bones said, scowling.  
  
"It appears so, Doctor."  
  
McCoy swore elaborately. Jim could totally relate.  
  
Scotty sighed, rubbing at his face. "The Commander is right: even if we managed to repair the warp drive—which is impossible because we don't have the necessary materials—we'd never reach Milky Way before we die. Even at Warp 8, it's too slow." He sighed again. "But I still wish we had warp. If we had warp, we could at least travel around. We can repair the impulse drive, of course, but without warp we can't go farther than a few star systems from here." He shook his head.  
  
Jim bit his lip, the seriousness of the situation sinking in completely. They  _were_ stuck in another galaxy.  
  
"There might be a way for us to travel back to Earth, though," Uhura said suddenly.  
  
Jim's head snapped to her. "What are you talking about?"  
  
Uhura was practically buzzing with excitement. "As you know, I've been researching that planet's history and society for the past four hours. And…" She smiled, looking very pleased with herself. "The natives are originally from Earth!"  
  
Receiving a stunned silence, she smiled wider. "I know, but it's true. The planet is called Regelence. The interesting thing is, it's populated entirely by humans and their society is based on Earth's Regency period."  
  
"Regency?" Scotty said, furrowing his eyebrows. "England's Regency? The early 1800s?"  
  
Uhura smiled at him. "Exactly! The society founders were Englishmen from early 19th century—"  
  
"Whoa, slow down, Uhura," Jim said, finally recovering from his shock. "How the hell did the Brits end up in another galaxy—the galaxy that  _no man_  has gone to before? And hello, there was no space travel in the 1800s!"  
  
Uhura gave him a smile. "Who said anything about space travel, Captain?"  
  
Jim stared at her, completely lost.  
  
"Perhaps you should start from the beginning, Lieutenant," Spock suggested.  
  
"Great idea," Bones grumbled, looking as lost as Jim.  
  
Uhura looked down at her PADD. "All right. I was able to obtain information about the planet's history with Gaila's help — she hacked into Regelence's public library computers. That's what I found out.  
  
"In 1803, Jordan Townsend, the Duke of Pruluce, who was well-known as a dedicated archaeologist, linguist and historian, discovered a massive stone ring with strange symbols in the sands of Giza, Egypt, along with a few small devices that lit up at his touch. Convinced that the stone ring was of great importance, Townsend brought it to England with him, not wanting it to fall into the wrong hands. Townsend and his friend, Frank Hollister, Marquis of Englor, unsuccessfully tried to translate symbols on their own before engaging their fellow lords from Scientific Club in London to help them. It took them several years to realize that the indecipherable glyphs were not words but images of constellations.  
  
"After finally translating ancient manuscripts that Townsend had brought from Egypt with the ring, they discovered that the ring— _Astria Porta_ , or Stargate—could create a wormhole, enabling travel to a similar device a galaxy away, and that Stargates were created millions of years ago by a highly developed alien race known as the Ancients. Apparently, each location in the universe had its own unique 'address,' which was a combination of seven or more non-repeating symbols appearing on the dialing Stargate. By 'dialing' these symbols in the correct order, the traveler selected a destination. The manuscript contained a gate address of a planet in another galaxy where a big Ancient research facility was located.  
  
"By the time that discovery was made, British War Office had heard rumors about the project." Uhura smiled crookedly. "It goes without saying that the War Office took a great interest in Stargate and the Ancient base, since they were constantly looking for potential weapons – remember, Britain was at war with France at the time.  
  
"But they needed energy to power the Stargate, which they obviously didn't have. The next four years were spent in futile search until Townsend triumphantly returned from his second trip to Giza. Nearby where he'd found the Stargate years ago, Townsend found an ancient outpost with a small device that was described in the ancient manuscripts as a power source for the Stargate, called ZPM.  
  
"But their problems didn't end there. Three more years were spent in futile attempts to connect the ZPM to the gate and trying to figure out how to dial the gate address. Apparently, to dial the address they needed some external device they didn't have, but in the end, they figured out how to dial the gate manually, by moving the inner ring by hand. Excited, Townsend and Hollister started preparing an expedition. Initially, the expedition meant to be relatively small, but the War Office insisted on sending a contingent of their own officers, because they didn't trust Townsend to give them weapons they might find." Uhura rolled her eyes. "Then friends of Townsend, Hollister and other lords wished to join the expedition, wanting some adventure. Of course, lords couldn't go anywhere without their valets, footmen, and cooks. Then it became obvious that they needed medics, administrative staff, and simple soldiers to do the dirty job for lords and officers—you know the drill.  
  
"In the end, instead of a small expedition, a contingent of 326 men, consisting of adventurous lords, scientists, officers, servants and soldiers, and 37 women who were meant to  _cook_ for and  _clean_ after the men"—Uhura scowled—"went through the Stargate in April of 1814 under the command of Jordan Townsend, the Duke of Pruluce."  
  
"Fascinating," Spock said.  
  
Jim leaned forward. "And? What happened? Why didn't they return? Hell, why is there no word about the expedition in history books?"  
  
Uhura shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine, Captain. After the expedition didn't return, they probably considered the project a failure and closed it. The British Government probably didn't want people to know about their role in the disappearance of so many very important people. Remember, most of the expedition members were titled lords and officers, and in 19th century, an officer's rank was given only to members of noble families, usually to the second or third sons of lords. Imagine the scandal! It would have made the War Office look really bad in the public eye."  
  
Jim snorted, thinking of some assholes at Starfleet Headquarters. "Sounds familiar. So what happened to the expedition? Why didn't they return?"  
  
Uhura rolled her eyes. "They didn't return because they had no energy source to power Regelence's Stargate." She shook her head, looking unimpressed. "They didn't think everything through. They  _assumed_ that the gate on this side had a ZPM too, but it didn't. Without a power source and, therefore, no way to go back, they had no choice but stay on the planet—which they called Regelence, in honor of the Prince Regent of Britain. Again, they were lucky that the planet didn't have predators or hostile natives. And they were extremely  lucky that they found that Ancient base, full of very technologically advanced weapons and devices, which helped the expedition to build their life there. Many devices were far beyond their comprehension, but the scientists were nothing if not dedicated.  
  
"First things first – they equipped the planet with appropriate facilities, making themselves comfortable. Thanks to Ancient technology and the richness of the planet, building their life there wasn't very difficult, and soon, they were self-sufficient. They practically built a small replica of Regency London — probably because they were homesick and needed the comfort of familiar surroundings. That area is currently known as Old Classige.  
  
"But soon enough, it became obvious that they would become extinct unless they reproduced quickly enough. The problem was, the expedition mostly consisted of men; it was hardly logical to take women into a scientific expedition, after all." Uhura scoffed, her eyes flashing. "Since there were only thirty-seven women—and the women were servants, not of  _noble_ blood—the almighty lords had to find another way to procreate. That's when the Ancient artificial procreation device came in handy."  
  
Jim raised his eyebrows. "You mean..."  
  
She chuckled. "Yes, to preserve their precious bloodlines, they had to pair men's DNA to make children using the device. Of course it was also done for practical reasons. If they paired every male with a few dozens of women they had, after a generation, their children would have to marry their half-sisters and half-brothers."  
  
Bones winced. "Er…"  
  
"Of course, some of the lords refused to have children with other men, since it was too 'unnatural' for them" — Uhura rolled her eyes — "and it split the expedition into two. Those who were against artificial procreation, led by Frank Hollister, Marquis of Englor, left for another planet through the Stargate, taking with them their share of Ancient technology and almost all women. They called the planet Englor—"  
  
"Wait," Jim said. "Didn't you say that the Stargate didn't have a power source?"  
  
Uhura gave him the 'god-give-me-some-patience' look. "I said the Regelence Stargate didn't have a ZPM – an energy source that was powerful enough to create a wormhole between galaxies – but the Stargate did have another power source that was quite sufficient to travel  _within_ the galaxy. Apparently, Regelen discovered the address for Englor in the Ancient base's database. It seems Regelence and Englor are the only planets with Stargates in this galaxy."  
  
Jim heaved a groan. Uhura's lecture was doing nothing for his headache. "Is the history lesson over?"  
  
Uhura smirked at him. "No, Captain."  
  
"Then get to the point faster, okay? If there is a point."  
  
"I believe there is a human expression 'Patience is a virtue,' Captain," Spock said, not looking at him.  
  
Jim pressed his lips together before looking back at Uhura. "Go on."  
  
"As I was saying," Uhura continued. "Almost all Regelen, with the exception of few servants who had children the natural way, chose the artificial method of procreation. To prevent the problem of their children having to marry their half-siblings, it was decided that every man had to have children with a single companion—a strictly platonic companion, of course. Therefore, all Regelen men split into pairs of two and 'made' as many children as possible to grow the population.  
  
"What Regelen people didn't expect was that every single baby created using the DNA of two males would be a boy. It made the demographic situation even worse than before, because while the population was growing very quickly, the male-female ratio became catastrophically huge. Every year there were created hundreds of boys and only a few girls due to a small number of women and the unwillingness of lords to mix their blood with servants. After a prolonged discussion with his ministers, the Duke of Pruluce—who was now Regelence's ruler—declared that there was no need for panic and that their children simply would have to procreate artificially, too."  
  
"I think there’s a 'but' somewhere," Jim said. He knew Uhura well enough to guess that something was up.  
  
Uhura chuckled. "Yes. Regelen wouldn't know it for years, but it would be too late by the time they found out. The thing is, every boy born artificially from two males turned out to be gay."  
  
Scotty burst out laughing. "Damn, I wish I could see the looks on those lords' faces when they found out that all of their  _blue-blooded_  children were sodomites!"  
  
Bones snorted. "Served them right. They used to hang people for being gay back then."  
  
Even Spock looked mildly amused. Their eyes met across the table and lingered. Jim looked away first. "Um, so what exactly happened?" he asked Uhura. "Are you saying that Regelence is a planet of gay lords?"  
  
Uhura let out a small laugh. "Basically, yes. There are women and heterosexual couples, of course, but all of them belong to the lower class. There's no discrimination against them; it just happens that there's a very little percentage of people who are born the natural way and none among the aristocracy. Nowadays, almost 450 years after its foundation, Regelence is a highly populated kingdom. Despite the technological process, the Regelence society is still very close to Regency England due to the lack of foreign influences and the extremely stable social environment. The only notable difference is the fact that all peers are gay."  
  
"What about Englor?"  
  
"Englor is a prospering planet, too, but it's much less populated than Regelence. Their society is similar to Regelence, except for the lack of gay men, of course. Englorian are still very old-fashioned when it comes to sexuality. The two planets had pretty much ignored each other for centuries until recently."  
  
Jim gathered his thoughts. "So where can we find the Stargate thing? It's in Regelence's possession, not Englor's, right?”  
  
Uhura shrugged. "It seems so, but I don't know the exact location. It isn't common knowledge, Captain. After all, almost a half-millennium has passed. People tend to forget."  
  
"But that can't be right," McCoy said, frowning. "Someone has to know."  
  
"I didn't say no one knew, Doctor—it's just not public knowledge. They say the Stargate was moved from its original place and only the royal family of Regelence knows its current location."  
  
Jim raised his eyebrows. "Royal family?"  
  
Uhura looked back to her PADD. "Yes. King Steven Townsend, who is the descendant of the Duke of Pruluce, rules Regelence. He's married to King-Consort Raleigh and they have five sons: Rexley, Payton, Aiden, Colton, and Tarren. Payton and Aiden don't live with their parents anymore—they're married. Ironically, Payton married the King of Englor a year ago."  
  
Scotty's eyes widened. "The King of the homophobic planet?"  
  
Uhura nodded, her lips twisting into a wry smile. "It caused a big scandal at the time. And, speaking of years, a Regelence year is approximately four times shorter than Earth's, so the current date on Regelence is 4831.51. It's interesting, but Regelen still count their age in Earth years, which they call 'biological years.'"  
  
Jim leaned back in his chair and folded his hands on his belly. "Hmm. Is that all, Lieutenant?"  
  
"More or less, Captain."  
  
"So," Jim said, glancing around the table. "It looks like we need to find the Stargate, and it seems we have two choices: either search the entire planet for a thing that could be locked away, for all we know, or talk to the Royal family of Regelence." He shrugged slightly. "I suppose we should go and talk to King Steven and ask for his help. Beats running around on what might as well be a wild goose chase."  
  
Spock lifted an eyebrow. "You are forgetting a significant factor, Captain: we cannot breach the Prime Directive. If I am not mistaken, the Regelen have not achieved warp."  
  
Jim looked at him with a small frown. "But they're humans. Does it even count as a breach of the Prime Directive if they're from Earth?"  
  
"I'm afraid it does, Captain," Uhura said thoughtfully before Spock could reply. "Even though Regelen are originally from Earth, the planet can't be considered an Earth colony. Regelen left Earth well before technological progress and space age started; therefore, their society developed differently. They're not Terran, and they're definitely not Federation members."  
  
"Indeed," Spock agreed. "But, since it is a considerably debatable point, I believe Starfleet could have made an exception for Regelence. However, the point is moot, since we have no means to contact Starfleet—our transmissions would take thousands of years to reach Earth. The truth is, we are not authorized to make a First Contact."  
  
"But it's stupid, Spock," Jim ground out, leaning forward. "We're going to be stuck millions of light years away from home only because of some stupid regulation that might or might not apply in this particular case. Most of the crew has families and loved ones back in the Milky Way. What kind of a captain would I be if I did nothing because of a goddamn regulation?" _And it's not like I never broke the Prime Directive before_ , he nearly said, but bit his tongue. That was one of the topics they both carefully avoided.  
  
Spock leaned forward, too. "Captain, I understand your... frustration, but Starfleet regulations are clear on the matter.  _Articles of the Federation_ , Chapter I, Article II, Paragraph VII states: 'As the right of each sentient species to live in accordance with its normal cultural evolution is considered sacred, no Starfleet personnel may interfere with the normal and healthy development of alien life and culture. Such interference includes introducing superior knowledge, strength, or technology to a world whose society is incapable of handling such advantages wisely. Starfleet personnel may not violate this Prime Directive, even to save their lives and/or their ship, unless they are acting to right an earlier violation or an accidental contamination of said culture. This directive takes precedence over any and all other considerations, and carries with it the highest moral obligation.'"  
  
Jim gritted his teeth. "You done?"  
  
Spock pressed his lips together and nodded.  
  
Jim took a deep breath, trying to rein in his temper. This was one of those times when he wanted nothing more but strangle Spock. God, he was so—so...  
  
Jim took another deep breath, pissed at himself.  _Get a grip, Kirk._  
  
"I know Starfleet Regulations, thanks," he said coldly. "And I'm not saying that we should break the Prime Directive. We can work around it."  
  
Spock's expression didn't change.  
  
"What’re you suggestin’, Captain?" Scotty said.  
  
Jim didn't look at him, keeping his gaze on Spock. "We'll go to Regelence on a shuttle— Scotty, is the cloaked device finished?"  
  
"Aye. It's not perfect yet — drains too much energy to cloak the ship — but for a shuttle, the device will do."  
  
"Good." Jim considered that for a moment. "I'll take two security guys and go to Regelence on a cloaked shuttle, hide it somewhere, then search the area of the main city— speaking of which…" He looked at Uhura. "You have more detailed information on Regelence, right?" After she nodded, Jim continued. "Transfer everything you've got to my PADD. It probably won't be enough, but it'll do for now, and I can always hack into their public libraries later." Uhura nodded and started doing some manipulations on her PADD.  
  
Jim looked at the others before his gaze returned to Spock. "Me and the guys will try to find the Stargate with minimal exposure to the natives, but if it doesn't work out, we'll always have Plan B." Jim gave Spock a warning look when his first officer opened his mouth to protest. "We'll meet the King and try to find out about the Stargate's location without revealing our true origins."  
  
"You want to go undercover," McCoy said.  
  
Jim grinned at him. "Exactly, Bones. But we'll do it only if we can't find the Stargate on our own."  
  
"Captain."  
  
_Stay calm_. Jim turned his head to Spock. "Let me guess: you find my plan illogical."  
  
"Negative, Captain. I simply wished to inform you that I will accompany you to the planet."  
  
Jim counted to five. "You  _will_ accompany me to the planet," he repeated slowly. "Is that so, Commander? Well, thanks for informing me, but  _I_  don't think that you will."  
  
Spock fixed him with an unmoving stare – his equivalent of a glare. Jim glared back. Seconds ticked by, neither of them willing to back off.  
  
Uhura coughed, breaking the tense silence. "You're going to need Regency clothes and work on your accents to blend into the crowd."  
  
"And Mr. Spock's ears are…a bit unusual," Scotty added.  
  
"Yes, and that's why Mr. Spock  _isn't_ going," Jim said with finality, still looking Spock into the eyes. It wasn't that he didn't want Spock with him. Although lately they were at each other’s throats half the time, they just...  _clicked_ , despite their differences. They were a great team even when they were arguing. And the truth was, Jim wouldn't trade Spock for any other Number One. He always felt safe — good — knowing that Spock had his back. But, at the same time, Spock had the uncanniest knack for infuriating him. Hell, they probably had the most dysfunctional Captain-XO relationship in Starfleet, but it didn't change the fact that they were simply the best.  
  
He wanted Spock with him. Maybe wanted it too much. And that was the problem.  
  
Spock folded his hands on the table. "It would not be the first time I had to hide my Vulcan origins, Captain." It was true – there had been numerous missions when Spock had successfully disguised himself as a human. All that was required was for Spock to grow his hair longer at will, which apparently was a piece of cake for a Vulcan.  
  
His jaw tightening, Jim cocked his head. "Are you questioning my decision, Commander?"  
  
Spock sat straighter, well aware that he'd crossed a line. "No, Captain. I am merely asking you to re-evaluate your decision. I will be of more assistance to you than any human. If necessary, I can utilize a mind-meld in order to obtain needed information or erase compromising memories. While I would rather not use my telepathy in such a way, it would be better than breaching the Prime Directive."  
  
Jim stared at him for several seconds before sighing. Spock was right, of course.  "Fine. You can join me and Lieutenant Rodriguez." He turned to Uhura. "So what were you saying about Regency clothes?"

 

 

  
~*~

 

 

  
_Planet Regelence: outskirts of Classige, the Bay of Pruluce (the ruling country of Regelence)_  
  
  
Finding the Stargate had turned out to be easier said than done. A week on Regelence, and they still had no clue where the thing was; Jim was beginning to think it didn't exist at all. For all they knew, it was just an urban legend.  
  
Sighing, Jim looked around. Strictly speaking, he wasn't supposed to be here — he was supposed to be wandering the old region of Classige and discreetly asking about the Stargate, but he'd had enough. He was tired, he was hungry, and he felt ridiculous in his Regency outfit (even though he looked mighty fine, if he said so himself). His clothes were pretty simple and understated: white linen shirt, high-collared waistcoat, snug breeches, and dark, knee-high boots. Jim would be mostly okay with his outfit if it weren't for the goddamn cravat. Jim tugged at it in irritation, watching the happenings.  
  
The docks were full of activity. Ships were being loaded and unloaded, people were maneuvering crates into warehouses, and there was hardly a place to stand. Although these docks were just secondary, they were, as Spock would say, fascinating. The main spaceport, Regelence Space Docks, was extremely well-guarded, so Jim had decided to check this one out; he was curious about their starships. Although Regelen didn't seem to have achieved warp yet, their starships were fast — faster than the  _Enterprise_ at sub-light speed. Spock was of the opinion that Regelen built their starships using the Ancients' technology — Regelen starships were too fundamentally different from Earth's to be a product of solely human minds.  
  
Regelen appeared to use their ships mostly for exploration and trade with other inhabited planets in the area, which were populated by various humanoid species native to the galaxy. Here, on the docks at the Bay of Pruluce, people busily distributed their freight to different ships for delivery. Space freighters hovered over the wooden docks where their cargo was lowered. Once on the ground, the goods were transferred to hover trucks and trailers for land distribution, as well as to the water ships.  
  
Even after a week on the planet, Jim couldn't stop staring. Seeing space ships and people in historical clothes was... very bizarre.  
  
The thing was, Regelence was weird as hell. The planet was an exceptional contrast, a mixture of old and new. The port piers, people, and buildings looked much like they would have in Earth's nineteenth century, but most of the vehicles more than rivaled those of Earth. Half of the time, Jim felt like they were in the distant past, and the other half like they were in some futuristic world. It was… disconcerting.  
  
Jim checked his watch. He had less than two hours to get back to Classige to meet Spock and Rodriguez at their hotel. Hopefully Spock or Rodriguez had had more luck than him. They had agreed that, in order to cover more area, they shouldn't stick together, but, so far, they hadn't come across anything interesting. There was no hint of the Stargate anywhere, not even a mere mention of its location.  
  
Wiping his sweaty forehead, Jim tugged at his cravat again, once again cursing the fucker who had invented it. And to think that he'd hated  _ties_.  
  
"Sod off!" someone yelled, and Jim's turned his head towards the voice.  
  
He frowned, seeing four bulky sailors hovering above a shorter guy — a kid, really. Jim couldn't see him well – they had him surrounded, laughing.  
  
"Ain't he a pretty lordling?" one of the sailors said, cackling and grabbing the kid. But in the next moment, he was rolling on the ground with a hand pressed to his groin and the kid was running away. "Agh! Get the brat!"  
  
Swearing, the other three ran after the child.  
  
Jim broke into a run, too.  
  
When he caught up with the others, he froze, his jaw going slack. The kid was actually managing to hold his ground despite the fact that he was largely outnumbered and his opponents were twice his size. Jim knew it wouldn't last forever, though — the kid was clearly getting tired.  
  
When one of the sailors managed to deliver a hit to the kid's ribs, Jim came out from his stupor and moved. He punched the nearest guy in the gut, then square in the jaw, hearing a satisfying crunch. As he dropped to his knees, Jim kicked him in the solar plexus and turned around just in time to see the kid deliver a blow to the temple of another guy, sending him down. The remaining sailor looked between them and his groaning buddies on the ground, then shrugged and wandered away. After a few moments, groaning and grunting, his buddies followed his suit, sending glares Jim's way.  
  
Jim turned to the kid. "You okay?"  
  
"Yeah; thanks for helping out." The kid stopped examining his bruised knuckles and raised his head.  
  
Jim stared – and stared some more.  
  
Wow.  
  
Probably no more than sixteen or seventeen, this kid had to be the prettiest guy he had ever seen. Jim usually didn't like using the word "pretty" to describe guys (he'd been called "pretty boy" often enough to hate the word), but he couldn't think of a better way to describe this one.  
  
Because the kid  _was_ pretty. He was blond — platinum blond — and his shoulder-length hair was a bit curly. His eyes were blue, the deepest aquamarine Jim had ever seen. His facial features, while strong, were too fine and flawless to be considered anything other than  _exquisite_. He wasn't overly tall, but he wasn't short, either; he was slim, but well-proportioned and toned for his age. Freakishly long eyelashes and a pink bow mouth completed the picture.  
  
In short, the kid was fucking gorgeous (objectively speaking, of course). Blonds didn't really do it for Jim, but he’d have to be blind and half-dead to not admit it.  
  
Damn, it was a pity Bones wasn't here. If he saw this kid, Bones wouldn't be able to call Jim "a pretty princess" anymore. Hell, compared to this guy, Jim was an ugly duckling.  
  
"Shit," the kid said suddenly, looking at something behind Jim with wide eyes. "Shit."  
  
Jim turned around, but seeing nothing out of ordinary, turned back to the kid.  
  
"Bloody hell, I'm so fucked," the kid groaned out.  
  
Jim raised his eyebrows, downright confused. While the kid was wearing typical clothes of a Regency gentleman, with a cravat and everything, his mouth was too filthy for a mannered lord and his fighting skills indicated that the kid was no newbie when it came to bar brawls.  
  
The kid was still staring at some point behind Jim, looking somewhere between annoyed and guilty. "Look, can you do me another favor? Play along, 'kay?"  
  
"What…" Jim started, looking behind himself again. He trailed off, seeing a gentleman heading towards them with purposeful stride.  
  
"What are you doing here, young man?" the man ground out. He was somewhere in his forties, tall and handsome, with dark hair, gray eyes and noble features. Jim frowned. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but the man looked very familiar.  
  
"Hi, Cony!" the kid said cheerfully, with a bright smile on his face. "Long time, no see."  
  
"Trouble, what are you doing at the docks?" 'Cony' said again, gritting the words out. "And without a chaperone! We thought you were still at Winstol Hall."  
  
'Trouble' gave him an innocent smile. "What do you mean, 'without a chaperone'? I assure you, I'm properly chaperoned." He reached out and grabbed Jim's arm. "Meet my chaperone, Cony."  
  
Jim blinked.  
  
Cony glanced at him suspiciously, and Jim quickly schooled his features into a blank expression (being closely acquainted with a Vulcan had its perks).  
  
"Since when do you have a personal chaperone?"  
  
Trouble raised his eyebrows. "Didn't Dad tell you that he would find a chaperone for me while he and Aiden are off-planet?"  
  
Cony frowned thoughtfully. "Well, now that you mention it…"  
  
Trouble beamed at him. "See? I'm perfectly safe here, Cony." He shooed him off. "Tell Colt and Tarren I said hi."  
  
Cony didn't move. Narrowing his eyes, he shifted his gaze to Jim. "Trouble, I do not think this gentleman is a suitable chaperone for you. He's too young, and he's male."  
  
Jim was peeved. He'd been called a lot of things in his life, but never a child molester.  
  
He opened his mouth to say so when Trouble said quickly, "He's not a Regelen — he's from Englor, and you know what that means." He made a grossed-out face. "He likes  _women_ , Cony."  
  
Jim almost laughed out loud. The kid had said it in the same tone people usually used for saying something like 'he likes eating babies for breakfast.'  
  
Cony raised an eyebrow at Jim. "Is that true, Mister…?"  
  
"Kirk. James Kirk."  
  
"So is that true, Mr. Kirk?"  
  
Jim looked at the kid, who was giving him the most pathetic — and cutest — puppy eyes Jim had ever seen.  
  
"Yes, I like women," Jim said, telling the truth.  _And guys._  
  
Cony gave him an assessing look before turning back to Trouble. "I can't leave you here, even with your chaperone; it's too dangerous. Someone could attack you."  
  
Trouble gave him a wide-eyed look, batting his eyelashes. " _Attack_ me? In the middle of the day? What nonsense you're speaking, Cony!"  
  
Jim said nothing.  
  
Cony looked unimpressed. "Trouble, you always  find trouble, regardless of the time of the day."  
  
"But Cony—"  
  
"Jeremy Hawkins, this is my last word," Cony said, his voice frosty. "In your father's absence, Steven and I are responsible for you."  
  
Jim's eyes widened. Holy fuck. Now he knew why 'Cony' looked so familiar. Cony was Raleigh Townsend, the King-Consort of Regelence. Shit, had he finally lucked out?  
  
Trouble's face flushed, his hands clenching into fists. "I'm not a kid! I wanna go where  _I_ want and do what I want."  
  
Raleigh heaved a sigh through his teeth. "Trouble, my decision is not up for discussion. I will not let you wander the docks only with your chaperone for your protection. I'll throw you over my shoulder if I have to. Am I making myself clear?"  
  
Trouble clenched his jaw. "Perfectly," he spat out.  
  
"Good," Raleigh said. His grey eyes softened a little. "This is for your own good, you know. If you don't care about your safety, think of your reputation. Even if nothing happens to you while you're here, someone from the ton will see you, and people will start to talk. Do you wish to shame Nate and Rexley?"  
  
Trouble's eyes flashed. "Dad isn't on the planet, and the Ice Prince couldn't care less about me."  
  
Raleigh averted his gaze. "It isn't true. You're his betrothed. Of course he cares."  
  
Trouble snorted. "Yeah, and that's why he's been avoiding me like I’ve got the plague."  
  
"He is not  _avoiding_ you. As the heir, Rexley has a lot of responsibilities—"  
  
Trouble huffed. "Lord Responsible can bloody go fuck himself — I don't give a damn. I'm breaking off our stupid betrothal."  
  
"Language," Raleigh said sharply. "And you're well aware that you can't 'break off' the betrothal. If it were so simple, your father and Steven would have done so immediately after we found out that you're the long-lost Marquis of Winstol."  
  
Trouble shrugged with one shoulder, tugging at his cravat furiously. "Whatever. The moment I'm of age, I'll be off this stupid planet anyway. This life is choking me like this stupid cravat." Jim could sympathize.  
  
Raleigh opened his mouth, then closed it, shaking his head. "Get in the carriage," he said, gesturing towards a carriage that had appeared nearby. Scowling, Trouble stomped towards it. Raleigh looked at Jim when he hadn't moved. "Mr. Kirk?"  
  
"Um, yes?" Jim said, his mind reeling. Should he try talking to Raleigh now? He might not have another opportunity like this, but saying 'Hi, I'm Jim and I'd like to know where your super-secret Stargate is' couldn't  _not_ raise any suspicions. Shit, he was terrible at this kind of thing. He wanted Spock.  
  
"Are you coming, Mr. Kirk?" Raleigh said, raising a dark eyebrow.  
  
"Um, right," Jim said and slowly followed him to the carriage. Raleigh was operating under the false impression that Jim was Trouble's chaperone (and really, Jim Kirk, a chaperone? Best joke ever). The question was, would Trouble give up the charade the moment he stepped into the carriage? Jim was of no use to him anymore, after all.  
  
When Jim climbed into the carriage after Raleigh, Trouble stared at him. He frowned and opened his mouth—  
  
Jim gave him a pleading look. Hell, the kid owed him, right?  
  
Trouble narrowed his eyes, clearly suspicious, but said nothing as Jim took a seat next to Raleigh and opposite him.  
  
The carriage door slid close and a dry male voice (a computer?) said, "Welcome back, Your Majesty. It's good to see you again, Marquis. The security shields have been activated. What is your destination?"  
  
"Hi, Geoffrey," Trouble said, still staring at Jim speculatively.  
  
"Back to the castle, Geoffrey," Raleigh ordered.  
  
"Understood, You Majesty. May I inquire of the other individual in the carriage? He is not in my database."  
  
Jim's eyebrows crept up.  
  
Trouble chuckled. "Still your nosy self, Geoffrey?"  
  
"Not at all, milord. I am asking for security reasons. I need to inform Jeffers of the guest – he would not let him in the castle otherwise."  
  
Trouble snorted. "Right."  
  
"Tell Jeffers that the guest's name is James Kirk. He is Englorian and Marquis of Winstol's chaperone," Raleigh said.  
  
Trouble met Jim's eyes, and, after a few terrible seconds of silence, affirmed, "Yeah. Tell Jeffers he's my chaperone, Geoffrey."  
  
Jim sagged against the seat. Trouble winked at him.  
  
" _Now_ , young man, you will tell me what you were doing at the docks," Raleigh said to Jeremy, narrowing his eyes.  
  
"Um. Well." Trouble looked right, looked left, before suddenly straightening up and pointing an accusing finger at Raleigh. "What were _you_ doing there, Cony? Are you cheating on poor King with some hot young sailor?"  
  
"Trouble," Raleigh sighed.  
  
The kid grinned innocently. " Just askin’!"  
  
Jim chuckled. The kid was cheeky; he'd give him that.

 

  
  
_Planet Regelence: Townsend Castle in Classige, Pruluce, half an hour later_  
  
  
The carriage came to a stop, the door raised and the steps descended from the vehicle. Jim followed Raleigh and Trouble out.  
  
"I'll arrange your clothes and other personables to be delivered to the castle," Raleigh said to Trouble, and the kid nodded. "Mr. Kirk, I understand your possessions are at the Winstol Hall as well?"  
  
Jim licked his lips. "No; I'm… temporarily accommodating at London Hotel." It was true; he just neglected to mention that he was sharing his room with Spock and Rodriguez. They didn't have money for separate rooms, and the money they had wasn't acquired by legal means (Spock's nerve-pinching skills really came in handy when one wanted to pickpocket a drunken lord).  
  
Raleigh nodded. "I'll have your things delivered from the hotel, then."  
  
"Thank you," Jim said, imagining Spock's face when the King's people arrived for Jim's things.  
  
He was  _so_ dead.  
  
Trouble caught his eyes and cocked his head in a universal look:  _We need to talk._  
  
Jim nodded and started ascending the wide cement steps leading to the impressive castle, a beautiful structure with ivy clinging to its gray stone walls. The large wooden door opened, revealing a vast entryway. A crystal chandelier that sparkled off the gleaming jade-colored marble brightly lighted the foyer.  
  
A tall, gray-haired man appeared out of nowhere and bowed. "Good afternoon, Your Majesty; Marquis." He looked at Jim. "Welcome to Townsend Castle, Mr. Kirk. I'm Thomas, the assistant butler. May I take your hat and gloves?"  
  
Nodding with a smile, Jim gave them to Thomas, pleased that he hadn't forgotten to wear them and hadn’t lost his hat during the fight. Trouble just grinned sheepishly at Thomas, quickly shoving his bare hands (with bruised knuckles) into his pockets.  
  
"Where is Jeffers, Thomas?" Raleigh said, pulling off his gloves and handing them to the butler.  
  
Thomas grimaced, though it was barely noticeable. "He is... temporarily indisposed, Your Majesty. It seems Lord Payton gave him a virus during today's transmission with Princes Tarren and Colton."  
  
Raleigh pressed his lips together. "What is Pay thinking? It's not nearly as amusing anymore. The castle's security is compromised while Jeffers is off. Pay is a married man now, not some irresponsible boy." Sighing, Raleigh looked at Jim and Jeremy. "If you’ll excuse me, I need to contact my son. Make yourselves at home. Thomas, please show them to their rooms."  
  
As he wandered away, shaking his head and muttering something about how some children never grew up, the butler turned to Jim and Jeremy and bowed again. "If you will come with me, please."  
  
They followed him upstairs, then through a series of rooms. Somewhere in the castle, a door slammed and a huge ruckus ensued. Thomas hurried his steps. "Right this way, my lords." He reached a door and swung it open. "This is your room, Lord Winstol. There is an adjoining room for your chaperone." He bowed again with a tight smile. "If you’ll excuse me."  
  
Trouble chuckled. "Go see what they're up to this time."  
  
The moment the door slid shut behind the butler, a heavy silence descended upon the room. Jim frantically tried to come up with some believable explanation, but he couldn't think of anything.  
  
"Well?"  
  
Jim turned his head. Trouble was leaning against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest and aquamarine eyes narrowed. "I'm waiting. I didn't give you away because you helped me out at the docks, but there’d better be a good explanation for why you lied to Cony."  
  
Jim gave him a cocky smile. "Actually, I didn't; you did."  
  
The next moment Jim found himself on the floor with Trouble's hand around his neck. He was so shocked he didn't even fight.  
  
"Listen to me," Trouble hissed out into his face, a hand squeezing Jim's neck, hard. "I can break your neck in one move, and if I have to, I will. If you're here to cause trouble to the Townsends, you're dead, and I'm not kidding. Got it?"  
  
Jim blinked, then nodded as much as he could; the kid was strong as hell.  
  
Trouble let go of his throat and stood up. He smiled pleasantly. "Now, tell me who you are and what you want."  
  
Rubbing his neck, Jim got to his feet, too. "Goddammit, how old are you, kid?"  
  
Trouble chuckled, flopping down on the bed. "Sixteen. Seventeen in a month."  
  
Jim winced, his pride wounded. He was a Federation hero, the youngest Starfleet captain in history, and it didn’t seem to count for a damn thing against this  _kid_.  
  
"Well?" Trouble said, raising a pale eyebrow. "Hurry up, Jim. And don't you dare to lie to me—you will regret it."  
  
Jim sighed and really hoped Spock wouldn't kill him. "Can you promise to keep it secret?"  
  
Trouble gave him a speculative look. "Depends."  
  
Jim shook his head. "Look, I can't tell you anything if you don't promise me to keep it quiet. I'm breaking a very important regulation by telling you the truth."  
  
Trouble raised his eyebrows. "You're military, then. Hmm." He was silent for a few moments. "Fine. If you don't mean any harm to Regelence, the Townsends, and my family, then I promise."  
  
"Good enough. I'm Captain James Kirk of the  _USS Enterprise_." Jim quickly told him a short version of the events that led him here. Trouble listened without interrupting, his expression constantly changing between incredulous and disbelieving.  
  
"So let me get it straight," he said when Jim finished. "There's a ship out there behind Brummell."  
  
"I don't know how the planet is called, but if you mean the red planet, then yes."  
  
"And you're saying you're from Earth," Trouble said, looking sceptical. "And that you need to find the Stargate. The _Stargate_."  
  
Jim scowled. "Why do I get the feeling that you don't believe me?"  
  
Trouble smiled crookedly. "Jim, no offence, but your story is kinda ridiculous. Space anomaly thing aside, you're saying that you're from Earth.  _Earth_."  
  
"What's so weird about it? Your ancestors were from Earth, too."  
  
"Of course I know that our ancestors were from Earth, but Earth is like an urban legend, you know? It's been centuries, and all we have of Earth are old stories and memories passed from generation to generation. Earth is like a fairytale everyone knows about but no one takes seriously."  
  
Jim stared at him. "I guess I can understand that, but I'm telling the truth, Jeremy. I'll be in big trouble because of this. When my First Officer finds out that I breached the Prime Directive, he'll kill me."  
  
The kid grimaced. "Don't call me Jeremy, okay? People mostly call me that only when they're angry or I'm in trouble." He frowned. "Well, there's Muffin and Rexley, but they don't count."  
  
"Actually, I wanted to ask about nicknames." Jim sat on the bed, too, and started loosening his cravat. "Why do you call Raleigh 'Cony'? And what about that betrothal you and Raleigh were talking about? "  
  
Trouble followed suit and took off his own cravat. "I call him 'Cony' because all his sons do. I think it's because King Steven used to tease his husband by calling him 'my dear Consort' when they weren't so old."  
  
Forty-something is hardly old, Jim thought, but kept his comments to himself.  
  
"Their oldest son, Rexley, was a baby and couldn't say 'Consort,' so he converted it to 'Cony.' That's how it started." Trouble looked down, adding, "And yes, I'm betrothed to Rexley, but it’s just a formality."  
  
Jim eyed him. "What do you mean? How can it mean nothing if you're engaged to the heir-apparent?"  
  
Trouble examined his bruised knuckles, then nails. "Long story short, my real father, the Marquis of Winstol, was engaged to King Steven when they were young, but Steven called off the wedding because he fell in love with Raleigh. To atone for their  _sins_ ” – Trouble’s upper lip curled in a scoff – “Steven and Raleigh had to sign a contract, promising their heir's hand to Winstol's firstborn." Trouble's lips twisted further. "Me. So it's not a real engagement. Raleigh and Steven feel really guilty for putting Rexley into this situation, for making him marry someone like me. I'm not exactly King-Consort material."  
  
Jim studied him. "Why? I thought you were a marquis."  
  
Trouble snorted. "Only by name. I wasn't raised as a lord. My parents, Marquis and Marquis-Consort of Winstol, were murdered when I was a toddler. It happened off-planet, so everyone assumed I was killed, too, but I wasn't. I grew up on a space station at the far end of the sector." He shrugged. "So instead of being taught how to be a perfect lord, I’ve stolen and killed to survive since I was a kid. I met Hawk — Nate Hawkins, Earl of Deverell — when I was nine. The boys I was hanging out with wanted to slit his throat, but I saved him. Hawk legally adopted me, gave me his name. We didn't know I was a Regelen marquis until Hawk married Prince Aiden. Cony recognized me — apparently I look a lot like my Father and Sire — and he had a DNA test performed." Trouble snorted, still looking at his nails. "It'd have been better for everyone if he hadn’t."  
  
"Hmm," Jim said, watching him closely. Something was off. "Is Prince Rexley that ugly?"  
  
Trouble smiled crookedly. "Ugly? No, he isn't ugly."  
  
"Then what?"  
  
"He's just… he’s everything I'm not. He's such a lord, while I—" Trouble waved his hand over himself. "Even after all these years, I feel like an imposter here, in these clothes. It's not me." He chuckled. "Rexley can't stand me. I'm everything he despises, but he won't say a word, because he sees our engagement as his duty and responsibility. Servants call him Lord Responsible for a reason. He's so perfect, it's disgusting. Makes me sick."  
  
"Yeah?" Jim said, trying to keep a straight face.  
  
Jeremy nodded. "Perfection is so fucking boring, don't you think? Even if Rexley liked me, I'd never marry someone who had such a huge stick up his ass. Rexley always does the right thing, never breaks rules, does everything as perfectly as possible no matter what it is, and despises people who don't. He's the most infuriating, overbearing, arrogant ass in the world."  
  
Huh. Jim frowned. Rexley sounded oddly familiar.  
  
"I hate him," Trouble added, pouting.  
  
"Uh-huh."  
  
Trouble looked at him suspiciously. "You're making fun of me, Kirk."  
  
Jim smiled innocently. "Nope, kiddo."  
  
Trouble narrowed his eyes. "I'm not stupid. I know what you think. You think I'm, like, in love with him or something." He flushed and glared at Jim. "I'm not. Really. Love is for sentimental fools. I'm not a fool."  
  
Jim raised his eyebrows.  
  
Trouble glowered. "Oh for fuck's sake, I'm serious! But all right, fine — I used to have a bit of a crush on Rexley when I first met him, but I'm over it, okay? He wasn't such an ass back then." He snorted. "I thought he, like,  _liked_ me. He was patient and kind and taught me how to dance, so it's only natural that I developed a case of puppy love.” His gaze hardened. “But I know better now. He never liked me. I've always been just a  _duty_ to him." He practically spat the word, his eyes watering.  
  
Awkwardly, Jim patted the kid on his shoulder, desperately hoping he wasn't going to cry or something.  
  
Trouble didn't cry. Instead, he stared at Jim with sudden interest. "Huh, you're cute. You aren't really my type, but you're really cute."  
  
Jim' blinked, bewildered by the sudden turn in the conversation. "Thanks."  
  
Trouble smiled brightly. "I have an idea! You're cute. I'm cute. Let's shag."  
  
Jim's eyes bugged out. "Thanks, but I'm not into jailbait."  
  
Trouble pouted. "But I'm almost seventeen! And because I'm stuck on this planet, I'm still a goddamn virgin. Were you a virgin at seventeen?"  
  
"Well — no." He’d lost his virginity at fifteen.  
  
Trouble beamed at him. "See? C'mon, I'm so sick of everything. Let's have fun, Jim!"  
  
Jim rubbed his face. He hadn’t signed on for this. "Aren't you, I don't know,  _engaged_? What would your fiancé think?"  
  
Trouble scowled. "He's not my real fiancé, and he doesn't give a damn." He shrugged off his waistcoat and started unfastening his shirt.  
  
"Whoa – whoa, kid, stop!"  
  
Trouble gave him a flirty look from under his eyelashes. "Why?" he said in a low voice, his pale fingers slowly working on his shirt.  
  
Swallowing, Jim stared helplessly at a pale, muscled shoulder. Okay, he might not be into blonds, he might not be into jailbait, but he was no saint, dammit, and the kid was gorgeous. He could  _look_ , right?  
  
"I'm twenty-six, kiddo."  
  
Trouble snorted. "So? Rexley's twenty-five."  
  
Now Jim had a sneaking suspicion why Rexley avoided Trouble.  
  
Jim cleared his throat, trying to ignore the stirring in his groin. "Look, Trouble—"  
  
"What is the meaning of this?"  
  
Jim's head snapped toward the door.  
  
There, in the doorway, stood a handsome young man with dark hair and broad shoulders. The word 'stood' was a bad choice, though, because the man was practically vibrating with anger.  
  
Realizing how the scene must look to him — both of them on the bed, Trouble's shirt unfastened to his navel and halfway off — Jim quickly got off the bed.  
  
"Hi, Rexley," Trouble said nonchalantly, not even bothering to fasten his shirt.  
  
Rexley? Fuck.  
  
Clenching his jaw, Rexley averted his gaze from Trouble and gave Jim a look full of such quiet, intense rage that Jim involuntarily stepped back. People were known to kill out of jealousy, and Jim didn't particularly want to die before he hit thirty.  
  
"Who is this man, Jeremy?" Rexley said, pointing a finger at Jim. And here Jim thought well-mannered lords would know better than to point at people.  
  
Trouble smiled serenely. "This is my chaperone, James Kirk. It’s good to see you, too, Rexley. How long has it been – two months?"  
  
A muscle in Rexley's jaw worked. "Make yourself decent, Jeremy."  
  
Trouble raised his eyebrows. "Why? I'm in my own room with my chaperone – it's perfectly appropriate. What's inappropriate is  _your_  presence in my bedroom. Go; I'm sure you have lots of other responsibilities and obligations. Jim and I were rather… busy." He smiled sweetly at Rexley. "Bye."  
  
Jim really, really hoped Trouble would shut up. Making the crown prince his enemy hadn't exactly been in his plans.  
  
Rexley narrowed his eyes and strode to the bed. Grabbing Trouble by the shoulder, he jerked him closer and started fastening the shirt himself.  
  
Trouble stared at Rexley with wide eyes and mouth slightly agape, not resisting at all. Jim watched in fascination and sympathy as Rexley's fingers  _trembled_ as he worked on fastening the shirt, his eyes determinedly fixed on the task at hand. Trouble couldn't have gotten it more wrong; Rexley liked him, all right.  
  
After finishing, Rexley's hands lingered on Trouble's pale neck. They both went very still, staring at each other. Trouble licked his lips. Rexley's nostrils flared.  
  
Jim wondered if he should make them pull away from each other — he was supposed to be Trouble's chaperone, after all, and there was nothing appropriate about the way Rexley was looking at the  _sixteen year old_.  
  
But before Jim could break the silence, the prince clenched his jaw and stepped away. "I will see you at the dinner, Jeremy," he said briskly, and with a last warning glare at Jim, he strode out of the room.  
  
As the door slid shut behind him, Jim snorted. "And you call him Ice Prince?"  
  
Trouble shrugged. "He's not usually like that." He fell back onto the bed and stared at the ceiling. "I don't get him," he said, frowning. "Why he's so— so—" He groaned in frustration and flopped onto his belly. "Go into your own room, Jim. I'm gonna have a good sulk and throw things. And maybe have a wank or two."  
  
"Too much information, kiddo," Jim said, shaking his head. "'Go into my own room?' Does it mean that you won't tell anyone?"  
  
Trouble snorted. "At this point, it's too late to tell everyone that you aren't my chaperone; Cony and Rexley would kill me. You don't have much time, though. My dad and Aiden are going to return in a few weeks for my seventeenth birthday. You're lucky there's next to no communication on the planet they are, or they would have called us on the lie."  
  
"Thanks, Trouble. You're a good kid."  
  
Trouble chuckled. "My dad won't think I'm a 'good kid' when he finds out."  
  
Jim winced. "Sorry about that."  
  
Trouble scoffed. "Yeah, whatever. Go. I'm sulking already and I’ll start throwing things soon. I warned you, Kirk."  
  
Shaking his head, Jim went into his room.  
  
It was smaller than Trouble’s, but very beautiful. Jim smiled, seeing the bed. After a week of sharing a bed with Rodriguez (Spock had slept on the couch), his body was practically aching from the thought of having a bed to himself.  
  
Jim walked over and had  _just_ put his ass down when a voice broke the air, "Mr. Kirk, this is Jeffers, the castle's butler. I apologize for not greeting you when you arrived. Welcome to the castle."  
  
"Er – thanks, Jeffers," Jim said, uncertain how he was supposed to talk to the computer. Regelen computers seemed to have more personality than Federation ones.  
  
"Unfortunately, there is a problem with delivering your possessions from London Hotel, sir. An individual who claims to be your brother wishes to see you. He appears to be concerned about your wellbeing. He identified himself as Mr. Spock Grayson."  
  
Jim licked his lips. "Er. Yes, he's my brother. He's — not from Regelence. I'm afraid we missed each other at the hotel. I didn't tell him about the change of plans — that Marquis of Winstol and me relocated to the Townsend Castle."  
  
"So you can confirm that he is your brother?"  
  
"Yes. He's my half-brother." Jim thought frantically. "Look, is it possible for my brother to be brought to the castle? The thing is, we haven't seen each other for ages, and if I'm to stay here with the Marquis, we won't have much opportunity to catch up."  
  
"I will have to ask the King-Consort, sir. One moment, please."  
  
Jim waited impatiently. He knew he was pushing his luck, but he needed Spock. If only Raleigh agreed... But why wouldn't he agree? It wasn't like they lacked free rooms and Raleigh had no reason not to trust the chaperone of his future son-in-law. After all, it was unlikely that Trouble's father would leave the kid in the care of an untrustworthy person. Hopefully Raleigh wouldn't think to check their story.  
  
"Mr. Kirk, Lord Raleigh has given his permission. Your brother is welcome to stay in the castle as long as you and Marquis of Winstol live here. He will be brought here with your belongings."  
  
Jim grinned. "Thanks, Jeffers."  
  
As much as he wasn't looking forward to Spock's lecture, he wanted Spock here. Having Spock with him would be a great asset, and—  
  
Jim ruthlessly cut off that train of thought.

 

~*~

 

  
Turned out, it was a good thing Jeffers had been off while Jim talked to Trouble.  
  
By the time of Spock's arrival, Jim had found out that Jeffers monitored every room in the castle and the grounds. Jeffers told Jim that he had only audio access to bedrooms and didn't record, but he could always inform the King-Consort and the security if he heard something potentially dangerous going on in bedrooms. Apparently it wasn't only for security reasons; Jeffers also served as a chaperone to the younger princes and Trouble. Only family members who were of age (Steven, Raleigh and Rexley) could ask Jeffers to turn the sound off if they wished some privacy. Jeffers expressed his regret at the discomfort it might cause for Jim and told him "not to mind" him. Jim snorted.  _Right_.  
  
Therefore, when Spock was shown to his room, Jim had no choice but put on a smile and greet him like a brother he hadn't seen in ages.  
  
The moment the door closed behind Spock, Jim swept him into a hug, closing his eyes at the feel of his hard body against him. Brother. Right.  
  
Spock stiffened but didn't push him away. Jim leaned very close to Spock's covered ear, and ignoring the stirring of his treacherous dick, whispered, "The room is monitored. Just audio. Be careful."  
  
Spock nodded and quickly stepped away, as if Jim was highly infectious.  
  
"I am…delighted to see you, Jim," Spock said, clasping his hands behind his back. He didn't look very delighted, though. By Spock's standards, he looked positively pissed. It was obvious that, if it wasn't for Jeffers's presence, Spock would be telling him how much of an illogical idiot Jim was, in his opinion.  
  
Jim snorted, and reached for his things, looking for a PADD. Finding none, he frowned before realizing that Spock probably had removed all devices in order not to breach the Prime Directive. Awesome. How were they supposed to communicate? He hadn't found any writing utensils in the room and he didn't want to use the handheld he'd found, because every computer in the castle was linked into Jeffers's system. Sure, it was unlikely Jeffers would check what he was typing in the handheld, but Jim wasn't going to take any risks.  
  
"Yeah, same here, Spock," he said aloud. "Have you already seen the room Thomas had prepared for you? It's even bigger than mine. Unfair, huh?"  
  
"I have seen it. It is, indeed, satisfactory," Spock replied, looking daggers at him.  
  
Jim glowered back, already starting to regret that he'd asked for Spock. It was nothing new: every time they were in the same room, they were like that, but when Spock was out of sight, Jim felt uneasy as hell and wanted him to be there. He would question his own sanity if he didn't already know that he was beyond help, but… whatever. It was easier just to accept it and roll with it, not letting himself dwell on anything.  
  
"Where's Rodriguez?"  
  
"When we found out that you and your  _ward_ " — Spock raised a 'what-the-fuck?' eyebrow — "relocated to Townsend Castle, he decided it would be prudent of him to return home, but he will be back soon with his... friends."  
  
"Hmm," Jim said and raised his own eyebrows. Spock stared at him for a few moments before nodding and walking over. Only when Spock raised a hand and pressed his fingers to his face, Jim realized what Spock was suggesting.  
  
A mind-meld.  
  
Fuck.  
  
Jim stared at Spock, hesitating. He hadn't liked the mind-meld with Ambassador Spock at all – it had felt awful. Even now, years later, Jim could still remember the overwhelming feeling of an alien presence in his mind, too intense and personal – just too much. He had been avoiding Ambassador Spock ever since, because he didn't want seeing that knowing look in the old man's eyes.  
  
If Jim had known how intruding a mind-meld was, he would have never let the Ambassador perform it. He just wasn't comfortable with baring his mind and soul to anyone, even to a life-long friend of his counterpart. Ambassador Spock claimed to be best friends with his James Kirk, and okay, Jim believed him, but it didn't mean that he wanted him messing in  _his_ mind, because to Jim, the Ambassador was a stranger. Even years later, Jim sometimes woke up in a cold sweat, dreaming of that mind-meld and feeling vaguely violated.  
  
He knew it wasn't the Ambassador's fault. Hell, he liked the old guy. The fact that the Ambassador had been grieving for his planet and hadn’t had the best self-control was probably the reason why the mind-meld felt so violent and intruding; Jim knew it. He knew it, but it didn't change the fact that he wasn't a fan of mind-melds.  
  
He certainly didn't want to feel it again.  
  
"Jim?" Spock said, looking at him with a question in his eyes, his fingers still barely touching Jim's face.  
  
Jim swallowed. He didn't have much of a choice. They needed to talk and form some kind of a plan, and melding was the most logical thing.  
  
He could do it.  
  
Biting his lip, Jim nodded and closed his eyes.  
  
With Ambassador Spock, he'd fallen into the meld very fast, as if he was pushed from a skyscraper, so Jim braced himself, waiting for the same thing to happen.  
  
At first, there was just darkness. And then... something changed, but it wasn't at all like he'd expected. Jim felt like his mind was expanding, slowly and carefully, until he became aware that he wasn't alone.  
  
Jim almost laughed, incredibly relieved. It didn't seem like Spock was reading his thoughts, and Jim couldn't sense Spock's either. There was no overwhelming sense of intrusion — just awareness that Spock was there, somewhere.  
  
But why was it so different from the other meld?  
  
_You are surprised_ , Spock's voice said suddenly.  
  
_A bit_ , Jim admitted.  _Why is it so dark here? Aren't there supposed to be pictures and images in my head?_  
  
_There are different types of melds. This one is rather shallow; it allows only direct thought transference. I did not wish to overwhelm you._  
  
Jim smiled.  _Thanks_.  
  
_You are welcome, Captain. It is your first time, after all._  
  
_Um. Not really. Another Vulcan took my mind-meld cherry._  
  
Silence.  
  
_I see._  
  
Jim did his best to ignore a note of fierce possessiveness in Spock's mental voice, as if it was perfectly normal to feel possessive over a guy who wasn't even a friend in the normal sense of word. By silent agreement, it was something they didn't talk about. They didn't talk about many things.  
  
_If it's any consolation, it was terrible and I didn't like it at all,_  Jim tried to joke, just to break the strained silence.  
  
_I see_ , Spock said again, but this time, it sounded lighter.  
  
_So how do we do it? I'm not exactly experienced in mind-melds._  
  
_I have deepened the meld to allow memory transference. You may think of anything relevant that happened since we parted this morning._  
  
_Okay_. Jim concentrated and thought of the moment he met Trouble. Immediately, he felt memories flash in his mind one by one and knew Spock was watching them.  
  
_Interesting_ , Spock said when the memories ended.  
  
Jim winced. 'Interesting' was bad.  _You're pissed._  
  
_Vulcans do not get 'pissed.' However, I am... disappointed by your lack of forethought. The matter of your breaking the Prime Directive aside, if we do not find the Stargate before Jeremy's father's return, our chances of ever getting access to it will drastically decrease, because the Royal family would be on guard. Moreover, it is too risky to stay at the place that we will have trouble leaving if something goes askew._  
  
Jim snorted.  _I don't believe my ears, Spock. I think you just told me that my actions were illogical and dangerous._  
  
_You ears have nothing to do with our conversation, since you are not using them to hear me._  
  
_Yeah, whatever. So what are we gonna do?  
  
According to your memories, it is unlikely that Marquis of Winstol knows anything about the Stargate's location. And I received the impression that the King-Consort sees all his sons except for the eldest as irresponsible children, and therefore, it is unlikely that he would trust them with such information. However, I estimate that there is roughly an eighty-two percent probability that Rexley Townsend, being the future king and a notably responsible individual, knows of the Stargate's location. Therefore, the most logical course of action is to attempt to get the information from him, because asking the royal couple would likely be too suspicious.  
  
Yeah, I thought about it, too, but thanks to Trouble, Rexley isn't exactly my number one fan.  
  
You should not have allowed Jeremy make such advances towards you,_  Spock said, disapproval evident in his tone. _It is not the first time your sexual appeal has ruined our missions._  
  
Jim tried to ignore the stupid fluttering in his stomach.  _Hey, it's not my fault that I'm universally desirable! And I tried to stop him._  
  
_You did not try hard enough._  
  
_Oh come on, you did see that kid, right? I know he isn't even seventeen, but when a gorgeous guy strips for me, it's hard not to look, you know?  
  
I did see him_ , Spock said dryly.  _He does appear to possess a certain… physical appeal._  
  
Jim wasn't sure he liked that Spock agreed with him.  _Yeah_?  
  
_Indeed. Especially if one has a preference for fair-haired individuals._  
  
Jim wanted to ask further but knew that, for both of their sakes, he really shouldn't. _So, we established that Rexley probably won't tell me a thing, and I doubt you'll have more success, since you're supposedly my brother. And I don't want you to go anywhere near the royal family anyway — there's too much risk that they would guess that you aren't human._  
  
_I find it unlikely, Captain. My eyebrows appear almost human, and my hair covers my ears completely. By all appearances, I am a human._  
  
Jim chuckled.  _You don't have to sound so put out by it._ Spock was right, though. _I like this haircut, by the way. It suits you much better than the bowl—_  
  
Spock ended the meld so abruptly that for a moment Jim was disoriented. He opened his eyes.  
  
"…Mr. Kirk?"  
  
Jim blinked, confused. Spock gave him a look.  
  
Oh, right. Jeffers.  
  
"Yes, Jeffers?"  
  
"Dinner is ready. The dining room is on the first floor, to the right from the stairs. Do you wish me to send a footman?"  
  
"No, thanks. We'll find the way," Jim said. He headed to the exit, then stopped, remembering that he was supposed to be Trouble's chaperone. "Jeffers, is Jeremy still in his room?"  
  
"Yes, Mr. Kirk. I already told him. I believe he is dressing, but I am not certain."  
  
"Thanks, Jeffers." Opening the door between their rooms, Jim found Trouble just behind it, fully dressed.  
  
Jim narrowed his eyes. "Were you eavesdropping?"  
  
Trouble made an innocent face. "Who, me? Why would you think such a terrible thing, Jim?" He shot a curious look over Jim's shoulder. "And who is that fine gentleman, and why don't I know him?"  
  
Jim rolled his eyes. "The 'fine gentleman' is Spock." Trouble's eyes widened and Jim added quickly, "My  _brother_."  
  
"Ah," Trouble said before winking at Spock. "Hey, handsome!"  
  
Jim pressed his lips together. "Let's go."  
  
They headed down, with Jim in front of Trouble and Spock.  
  
"What is it?" Jim said, noticing a little door with strange symbols on it in one of the corridors.  
  
"Transporter," Trouble replied.  
  
Surprised, Jim touched the door, but nothing happened.  
  
Trouble shook his head. "Don't bother, it won't work for you. It doesn't work for me either. That thing is Ancient, and most of Ancient technology can be activated only by people with ATA gene in their blood."  
  
"ATA gene?" Spock repeated.  
  
"Ancient Technology Activation gene." Trouble looked highly amused. "What, did you sleep through your Ancient history classes? The ATA gene is very rare, but even an Englorian should know about it. Doesn't your King have the gene, too?” He shrugged. “Because of the gene's rarity, most of our technology isn't Ancient; it's just based on Ancient technology. Reverse engineering, you know? On Regelence, only descendants of Jordan Townsend have the gene — and even then, their genes are usually too weak. Out of Steven and his five sons, only Rexley has a really strong Ancient gene. My dad's husband, Prince Aiden, has a gene too, but it's much weaker than Rexley's." Trouble snorted. "Every bloody piece of Ancient technology adores Rexley to bits. Even Jeffers, who is supposed to be a computer, runs to Rexley first if something happens. I swear one day Steven will have a mutiny on his hands.”  
  
He sighed, “OK, let's go. Cony will have my head if we're late because of me."  
  
They resumed walking.  
  
"So," Trouble whispered conspiratorially as they descended the stairs. "Can I touch your ears?"  
  
Jim turned his head and glared at Trouble. Did the kid want to give them away?  
  
Trouble raised his palms with a sheepish smile. "Okay, fine, I  _get_ it — no touching your Spock."  
  
Jim scowled and looked ahead again.  
  
By the time they entered the dining room, it looked like everyone was already seated. Jim bowed slightly, feeling awkward — and yeah, nervous. It wasn't the first time they’d had to dine with royalty, and it wasn't even the first time they’d pretended to be someone else while doing so, but this time, there was too much at stake. They didn't have Federation behind their back; they were on their own. If they fucked it up, they were fucked, and they would never return home.  
  
"Steven, boys, this is James Kirk, Trouble's chaperone, and I presume his brother, Spock Grayson," Raleigh said.  
  
Spock bowed perfectly, looking every bit a Regelence lord in his perfectly tied white cravat and immaculate dark clothes. He didn't look even a bit uncomfortable in the Royal family's presence, and Jim recalled that Spock was from a very austere, influential Vulcan clan. He probably felt at home here.  
  
"I wish to extend to you my gratitude for allowing me to stay in the castle," Spock said.  
  
Raleigh smiled. "Oh, it's nothing. After all, I'm to blame for moving Jeremy and your brother to the castle. It's the least we could do. I believe James mentioned that you were from Englor? And please, take a seat, gentlemen. James, Spock, these are my sons Rexley, Colton and Tarren, and this"—Raleigh smiled at the red-haired little girl sitting next to Rexley—"is Lady Muffin, Rexley's ward."  
  
Probably noticing Jim's confused look, the King-Consort explained, "I suppose, in a sense, she is  _our_ ward, but Rexley found her when she was a newborn. She’d been abandoned in an alley behind a shop and reminded Rexley of a muffin, all round and plump. It was before he ate lunch." Raleigh chuckled, along with his younger sons.  
  
"Hi, Jeremy," Muffin said, beaming at Trouble. Jim figured she was around five or six.  
  
Trouble smiled at her as they all sat down. "Hey, pumpkin. Haven't seen you in a while."  
  
"You stopped coming," Muffin said, frowning. When Trouble said nothing, she looked at Jim and Spock. "You're brothers? You don't look alike at all."  
  
"Muffin," the King chided, taking a sip from his glass. "Don't be rude."  
  
Jim smiled awkwardly at the King. "No, it's fine. It's not a secret or anything. Spock and I have different fathers." _And mothers._  
  
Steven quirked his eyebrow slightly. Rexley and he looked a lot alike, Steven maybe a bit wider in the shoulders. "I understand Nate asked you to look after his son because you knew each other from Englor?"  
  
Inwardly, Jim winced. He didn't like lying, and he felt guilty for lying to them; they seemed like nice enough people.  
  
"I don't know him very well, but our eldest brother does," Jim said, making a wild guess that Trouble's dad was significantly older than he and Spock.  
  
He seemed to be right, because Steven nodded in understanding and turned his attention to his food. Barely suppressing a relieved sigh, Jim did the same.  
  
"I do not understand why Lord Deverell chose you as Jeremy's chaperone," Rexley said coldly and Jim tensed. "No offence meant, but you are far too… young for such a position."  
  
Wanting to strangle Trouble, Jim smiled tightly at Rexley. Now the man  _did_ look like Ice Prince, his eyes hard and face inscrutable.  
  
"I assure you, I'm a perfectly suitable chaperone for Jeremy, Your Highness. I'm Englorian, after all."  _I'm not interested in your boy,_ he tried to convey with his eyes.  
  
He seemed to be unsuccessful, because Rexley didn't look convinced. "Your King is Englorian, as well, and yet he compromised and married my brother Payton."  
  
Dammit, there was nothing worse than a jealous male. If they didn't manage to persuade Rexley that Jim wasn't interested in Trouble, Rexley might start digging into their background, which was the last thing they needed.  
  
"Rexley, don't be silly," Trouble said with an eye roll. "Jim is married. To a woman."  
  
Jim almost choked on his tea. "Um, yes," he said, taking another sip of his tea.  
  
Spock nodded solemnly. "Nyota is a wonderful woman."  
  
Jim almost choked again. His life was turning into a farce. And the funniest thing was, Spock wasn't even lying: Nyota was a wonderful woman; she just wasn't Jim's wife.  
  
But at least Rexley stopped looking like he wanted to turn him into ice. "What an unusual name," he muttered, clearly losing interest in Jim now that it was established that Jim wasn't lusting after his fiancé.  
  
"Is Nyota on Englor?" the King-Consort asked.  
  
"She's at home. Spock and I won't be on Regelence for long — only until Jeremy's father returns." Huh. He was getting better at lying without actually lying.  
  
Raleigh nodded, clearly satisfied with the answer, before turning to look at his younger sons. "Don't forget — tomorrow is Lord Beverley's ball, so don't stay up late tonight. Trouble, you too. Rexley, are you going?"  
  
The Crown Prince looked down at his plate. "I'm… otherwise occupied, Sire."  
  
"I don't wanna go," Trouble said, stabbing something on his plate with his fork. "That fat old pervert Lord Furcroft will keep pinching my cheeks—"  
  
"Jeremy, stop being difficult," Raleigh interrupted with a frown. "He's an old, lonely man. Just smile and pretend that he's your grandfather you have to indulge."  
  
Trouble snorted. "I think my grandfather wouldn't constantly try to grab my arse."  
  
"Pardon?" said Rexley, looking up.  
  
Prince Colton chuckled. "Didn't you know it, big bro? Lord Furcroft has a  _taste_ for young men. He's pinched me a few times, too, but he seems to have a thing for poor Trouble."  
  
Trouble's lips twisted. "How would he know if he doesn't attend the balls I do, Colt?"  
  
Rexley stayed silent, his jaw tight.  
  
An awkward silence descended upon the room. Colton and Tarren had grimaces on their faces. Even Steven and Raleigh looked vaguely uncomfortable, their gazes on their food. Muffin looked confused.  
  
Finally, Raleigh cleared his throat. "Mr. Grayson, you are also welcome to attend the ball with us, as our guest."  
  
"Thank you, Your Majesty. I shall think about it," Spock said politely, breaking the tension in the air.  
  
Jim glanced at Trouble. The kid was idly playing with his food, his bright eyes dull.  
  
Jim looked at his other side. Spock was watching Prince Rexley with a strange expression on his face. Probably feeling Jim's eyes, Spock shifted his gaze to him.  
  
Their eyes met and held.  
  
Jim looked away, took his fork and carefully stabbed a tomato-like vegetable on his plate. Bringing the fork to his mouth, he chewed, looking straight before him.

****

**~*~**

 

_ Regelence Society Papers (an issue from three months ago):  
"Marquis of Winstol causes a scandal again!" _

  
_Yesterday, the guests of Lord Cavendish's ball witnessed yet another incident that involved Lord Winstol. This time, our dear Marquis spilled a glass of punch all over Lord Eden's immaculate attire. Afterwards, the Marquis claimed that it was an accident, but This Author was merely ten feet away and watched all the happenings with his own eyes, and This Author considers it his duty to reveal the truth. Yes, it was no accident, dear readers: shocking, but the Marquis of Winstol spilled his punch on Lord Eden on_ purpose _!  
  
Now, This Author would never speculate on personal lives of his betters, but it is not a secret that Prince Rexley was courting the charming Lord Eden before it turned out that his childhood betrothed was alive. Hopefully, the dear Marquis would not take these words the wrong way, but This Author has to say that Prince Rexley and Lord Eden made a lovely couple. It is tragic that their union is nearly impossible now! This Author cannot help but notice that Prince Rexley still dances with Lord Eden at every ball (and it must be said that the Prince appears to avoid the balls his betrothed attends altogether).   
  
As was mentioned previously, This Author would never speculate or engage in gossip, but …_

 

~*~

 

 

  
The next morning, Jim woke up from the sound of knocking. Blinking his eyes open, Jim squinted until his eyes adjusted to the early morning light. He stared at the unfamiliar ceiling, disoriented.   
  
"Jim, open the door! Jeffers isn't letting me in!"   
  
Trouble. Right. He was in the Townsend Castle.  
  
"Jeffers, let him in," Jim muttered, yawning widely.  
  
A few seconds later, Trouble climbed into the bed and sprawled next to him on his belly.  
  
"Hi, Jim," he said, smiling brightly.   
  
Jim snorted. The kid was weird. Yesterday evening, after the dinner, he locked himself in his room, refusing to talk to anyone, and now he looked like the happiest person in the world.  
  
"Morning, kiddo," Jim said, tugging the sheets higher. He always slept naked, but now, seeing Trouble's interested eyes on his chest, he was beginning to regret it. He had morning wood, too, so he wasn't exactly in the best state to resist Trouble's advances.   
  
Trouble grinned. "Quit worrying—I'm not gonna jump you or anything. You're a real cutie, and you have a great arse, but you aren't really my type. But even if you were, I'm not stupid. I see that your affections lie elsewhere." The kid waggled his eyebrows. "Now I know why you kept mentioning your Number One all the time."  
  
Jim blinked. His sleepy brain refused to process it. "Er, what?"   
  
Trouble leaned closer and whispered barely audibly, "Spock. You have the hots for him, right?"  
  
Jim stared at him for a few moments, then forced a laugh. "You're hilarious, Jeremy."  
  
Trouble scowled. "And you're stupid."  
  
"Says the pot to the kettle."  
  
Trouble frowned. "What are you hinting at?"  
  
Sighing, Jim stared at the ceiling, wondering what had become of his life. He was a starship captain, not a guidance councilor. "Rexley likes you, kid."  
  
Trouble's face immediately closed off. "I don't want to talk about Rexley."  
  
Jim yawned again. "Look, I can't know for sure what's going on in his head, but I think it's pretty obvious that he avoids you because you're too young. I know I would if I were him. The poor guy probably feels like the worst kind of pervert for wanting you."  
  
Jeremy chuckled harshly. "Don't be ridiculous, Jim. He doesn't want me, and I'm not a kid — I'm almost seventeen. Cony was seventeen, too, when he married Steven. So you've got it wrong."  
  
"And how old was Steven?"  
  
Trouble wrinkled his forehead. "Eighteen, I think."  
  
Jim smiled crookedly. "Kiddo, there is a big difference between wanting a seventeen year old when you're eighteen and wanting a seventeen year old when you're twenty-five. And you aren't even seventeen yet. It's creepy, you know?"  
  
Trouble stared at Jim skeptically. "You really think Rexley is just waiting until I get older? It's stupid. Even if it were true,  _when_ would I be old enough? So what, he's going to keep avoiding me for years and taking as a given that I'll wait for him?” He snorted. “Maybe I'll fall in love with one of my many suitors.  _They_ don't think I'm too young, and most of them are above thirty!"  
  
Jim cringed. "No normal grown man would court a teenager, Trouble. Keep away from those so-called suitors — they want just one thing. Rexley is doing the right thing keeping away from you. It shows that he's a decent, honorable guy."  
  
Trouble scowled, his eyes flashing. "Yeah, right. You're wrong, Jim. And I told you, I don't wanna talk about him – I do not care, okay?"  
  
"If you don't care, then why are you so upset?"  
  
Trouble lifted his chin. "Because— it's a matter of pride. Do you know how humiliating it is that my supposed fiancé avoids me? The  _ton_ is talking — not that I give a fuck, but I hate pitiful looks and whispers behind my back. Thanks to Rexley, I'm a fucking laughingstock! On the rare occasion when we actually end up at the same ball, he ignores me and dances with that Lord Eden — like I'm not there! Like I'm not worthy his attention. Like I — I…"  
  
Jim grimaced, noticing a suspicious wetness in Trouble's eyes.   
  
"Look, Jeremy," he began softly.  
  
"I hate him," Trouble said, with feeling. "Screw him. I…" Suddenly, Trouble smiled brightly.  
  
Jim got a bad feeling.  
  
"I know what to do," Trouble said, his eyes flashing with determination. "Tonight I'll go to that stupid ball and dance with every handsome lord of the  _ton_. I'll choose the hottest one and finally lose my goddamn virginity. I'll show him."  
  
With a groan, Jim buried his head under his pillow.

~*~  
 

  
_Beverley Hall, Classige, Pruluce.  
_  
  
"It's gonna be awesome," Trouble said as they waited their turn to be announced.  
  
It's gonna be a disaster, Jim thought grimly.  
  
Trouble was dressed to kill, his impeccably tailored clothes and a snow-white cravat making him look even more gorgeous than usual. Other guests around them were practically salivating over him, and Jim had a terrible feeling about this evening.  
  
Jim looked at Spock, but he was talking quietly with some lord next to him. Jim frowned, glancing away.  
  
"His Highness Prince Colton Townsend," the butler announced. "His Highness Prince Tarren Townsend."  
  
Jim winced sympathetically. "Poor kids. That's a lot of pressure to be living under. All that attention from everyone."  
  
Trouble shook his head. "Not really – their titles are empty. Rexley is the only real prince. The rest of the princes take their husband's names and become consorts. Like, my dad is the Earl of Deverell, and when Aiden married him, he became Earl-Consort of Deverell, even though, formally, the title of the prince is higher. Even I, as a marquis, get much more attention than the younger princes. Funny, huh?"  
  
"The Most Honorable Marquis of Winstol. Mister James Kirk. Mister Spock Greyson."  
  
"I want to laugh so badly every time they call me 'The Most Honorable,'" Trouble said, his lips twitching as they entered the ballroom, Spock slightly behind them.   
  
It felt like every head turned toward them. Jim caught many appreciative looks on him and Spock, but they didn't linger — it was Trouble who was being ogled like a piece of meat.  
  
Jim stifled his wince. He had a feeling it was going to be a long night. 

~*~  
 

  
"Oh no. Fuck."  
  
"Is something wrong?" a familiar voice said from behind him.  
  
Jim jumped and whirled around. "Where the hell have you been?"  
  
Spock raised an eyebrow, still looking completely regal, and Jim contemplated the unfairness of the universe. Why couldn't Spock look ridiculous with his almost-human eyebrows and shoulder-length hair?   
  
"I have been socializing and discreetly asking other guests about the Stargate, though to no avail. Why are you so agitated?"  
  
"That's why," Jim said with a sigh, gesturing towards the dancing crowd. After two hours at the ball, seeing men dancing historical dances with other men didn't weird him out anymore; he was freaking out for another reason entirely.  
  
"I do not understand your meaning," Spock said, stepping forward to stand by Jim's side.  
  
"Trouble is dancing a second waltz with Lord Devero," Jim said, watching the couple grimly. Devero was holding Trouble much closer than was appropriate, and the brat was letting him. "Dammit, even I know that dancing two waltzes with the same gentleman raises eyebrows, and I have a feeling Trouble isn't going to stop on two. Dancing three waltzes is scandalous. We have to do something, Spock."  
  
"I fail to see how it concerns us."  
  
Jim turned his head and glowered at him. "Of course it—"   
  
Spock met his eyes. "No. It is none of our concern what Jeremy does. Remember, we are not supposed to interfere in anything; we are here on a mission. If Jeremy does anything unwise and becomes hurt, then it was meant to happen. We have more pressing issues to worry about."  
  
"I can't fucking believe you."  
  
Spock gave him a cool look. "You know I am right, Jim. The boy has other adults to look after him."  
  
Jim leaned closer and hissed out, "Those adults are relying on  _me_ to look after him! Steven and Raleigh are in the other ballroom, discussing politics. I'm Trouble's chaperone, not them. I can't let the kid do something stupid and get hurt and do nothing but watch, dammit!"   
  
"Why are you so invested in this?"  
  
Jim licked his lips. "Look. I did— some dumb things when I was at his age, because I wanted attention, just like him. It fucked me up, Spock – you have no idea how much I regret it. I don't want this kid to repeat my mistakes, okay?"   
  
Spock stared at him for a few moments. "What did you do?"  
  
Jim averted his gaze. "It doesn't matter now." Fucked everything that moved, was high day after day, got into bar brawls night after night, spent more time in the police station than at home, drank, fucked, did drugs, fucked again, did more drugs, over and over. It was a wonder he didn't have STDs and hadn't gotten himself killed, really.  
  
"Very well," Spock said quietly, eyeing him, then brushed Jim's wrist with a gloved hand.   
  
Jim tensed. What the  _hell_?  
  
"So you'll help me?" he said, hopefully sounding professional and calm and not at all like he was freaking out.   
  
Spock nodded, clasping his hands behind his back, face completely inscrutable.  _Bastard_.  
  
"Distract Trouble," Jim said briskly. "Don't let him dance with Lord Devero — or any other rake, for that matter. Don't let him out of your sight, got it? I need to go talk to Rexley."   
  
Spock raised an eyebrow. "But he is not present."  
  
"I know," Jim said, already turning away to go. He stopped and looked at his first officer. "Hey, Spock?"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
Jim wet his lips, pushing his hands into pockets of his waistcoat. "Nothing. I'm glad you're here. To help me."  
  
Spock looked at him into the eye for a few moments before inclining his head.   
  
Jim strode out of the ballroom, angry with himself and with  Spock, and trying to ignore the way his wrist was prickling with fresh goose bumps.  _We aren't going there_ , Jim repeated as a mantra. There were so many reasons why they couldn't.   
  
He pushed away his thoughts when he finally reached a less populated part of the manor. Opening a random door, he found himself in an empty library. He closed the door and cleared his throat.   
  
As he'd expected, the voice of Beverley Hall's butler responded, "Can I help you, sir?"  
  
"Actually, yes. Could you connect me with Townsend Castle's butler, Jeffers?"  
  
"I can, but unless you are related to the Royal family, it is unlikely he will speak with you."  
  
"Tell him it's James Kirk."  
  
"One moment, please."  
  
Jim waited, hoping that it would work.   
  
"Mr. Kirk?" the familiar voice sounded from speakers and Jim smiled.  
  
"Hi, Jeffers. Can you tell me if Prince Rexley is home?"   
  
"He is."  
  
"Can you connect me to him, please? It's very important."  
  
"I will ask him, Mr. Kirk."  
  
Silence.   
  
Then the monitor on the nearest desk turned on. Jim walked over and sat down before it.  
  
A minute later, Rexley appeared on the screen. He was frowning. "Mr. Kirk? You wanted to speak to me?"  
  
"Yes. Come to the ball as soon as possible."  
  
Rexley's shoulders stiffened and he leaned forward. "Why? Is something wrong?"  
  
Jim considered what to tell him before deciding to tell the truth — with a little white lie. "I'm worried, because Jeremy already danced two waltzes with Lord Devero and seems to be quite taken with him." Jim almost laughed seeing the expression on Rexley's face. "And this morning, he told me that he was sick of his virginity and that he was going to get laid as soon as possible.” He shrugged innocently. “Thought you might want to know."  
  
"I see," Rexley said, his face expressionless.  
  
The screen went dark. Jim smiled, feeling pleased with himself.  
  
When he returned to the ballroom, Jim looked around for Spock and Trouble. His eyebrows flew up when he found them.  
  
They were  _dancing_.  
  
Spock was dancing with Trouble.   
  
Spock was dancing a  _quadrille_ , flawlessly, looking every bit an aristocrat. He was moving in measured steps around Trouble, who was smiling at him brilliantly.   
  
Jim's gut tied into knots.   
  
Don't be ridiculous, he told himself, trying to squash down the childish urge to stomp and say 'mine!' and then drag Spock away from Trouble in favor of gluing him to himself. God, he was going nuts.  
  
Finally, the quadrille ended and Spock offered Trouble his arm. Jeremy took it and they leisurely walked along the ballroom, seemingly deep in conversation.  
  
As they approached Jim, he quickly put on his face what he hoped passed as a pleasant smile.  
  
"You look a bit green, Jim," Trouble said with a wink. Jim shot him a glare, but Trouble didn't even blink, smiling serenely. "Spock, why don't you dance with your brother?"  
  
Jim took a deep breath in and reminded himself that he liked the kid. He really did – very deep down.  
  
"It would be my pleasure," Spock said after a moment.  
  
"I don't dance," Jim said shortly.  
  
Trouble looked at his dance card. "It's a waltz again. Surely you can dance the waltz, Jim." He'd said it with enough challenge in his voice that Jim couldn't possibly refuse.   
  
"I'm your chaperone," he tried again.   
  
Trouble looked somewhere behind Jim. "My next dance is taken, so it won't make any difference if you're playing a wallflower or having fun. Lord Beston?"  
  
"I believe this dance is mine, Winstol," the lord said, taking Jeremy's gloved hand and kissing the knuckles.   
  
Trouble gave him a flirty smile that didn't quite touch his eyes. "I believe you're right."  
  
Lord Beston led Trouble to the middle of the ballroom. Trouble turned his head and mouthed at Jim 'go.'  
  
"Shall we?" Spock said with an inscrutable expression, offering his gloved hand.   
  
Jim stared at it for a moment, then took it.   
  
They walked deeper into the crowd, holding hands loosely. And then, somehow, as if it was the most natural thing, their fingers entwined.  _Fuck_ , Jim thought but kept walking, looking straight ahead, his thoughts all over the place.   
  
Finally, Spock stopped. Jim came to a halt, too. They looked at each other.   
  
As the first accords of the waltz started, Spock put his hand on Jim’s waist. Jim put a hand on Spock's shoulder. Spock pulled him a bit closer. Wetting his lips, Jim made himself relax, and Spock whirled them around the floor.  
  
"I didn't know you danced," Jim said with a forced smile, finally gathering his wits.   
  
Spock just looked at him. "I do not," he said finally. "Today is the first time I have participated in a quadrille and a waltz."  
  
Jim let out an incredulous laugh. "You're kidding, right?"  
  
Spock gave him a flat 'I-never-kid' look. "I researched historical dances using the  _Enterprise's_ database before we departed to the planet. As you humans would say, 'it pays to be prepared.'"  
  
Jim rolled his eyes with a smile. "Only you, Spock. Don't you get tired of being so disgustingly perfect all the time?"  
  
"Negative," Spock with a straight face, and Jim laughed, glad that the awkward  _whatever_ between them disappeared.  
  
When the waltz ended, Jim quickly stepped away from Spock and looked around for Trouble. He frowned. "Do you see the kid?"  
  
"I believe he is over there, speaking with Lord Devero."  
  
Jim swore under his breath. Devero was leading Trouble toward the French doors that opened onto the gardens. Without exchanging a single word, Jim and Spock quickly headed towards them.  
  
As they were halfway to them, the butler announced, "His Royal Highness, Prince Rexley Townsend, the Duke of Pruluce."  
  
"Oh, thank god. That was fast," Jim muttered, turning his head to the entrance. He noticed that he wasn't the only one. Practically everyone in the ballroom stopped whatever they were doing to watch and bow as the Crown Prince passed them. Now Jim really got what Trouble meant when he'd said that Rexley was the only real prince — the difference between how people looked at Rexley and his younger siblings was enormous. From the  _ton's_ behavior, it was obvious that they saw Rexley not as a young lord, but as their future king.  
  
Jim felt a pang of pity for the guy. It would suck having to grow up with all those expectations. No wonder servants called Rexley Lord Responsible and the Ice Prince.  
  
Right now there wasn't much of the Ice Prince left, though. Rexley was  _pissed_. It probably wasn't very obvious to the casual eye, but not to Jim, who had learned to pay attention to the subtlest shifts in Spock's expression.  
  
Pretty much ignoring everyone, Rexley strode right to where Trouble and Devero stood, seemingly oblivious to his approach. The crowd quieted down, clearly not wishing to miss anything. Swearing on the inside, Jim walked quicker, Spock by his side.  
  
They reached Trouble at the same time as Rexley, but the kid didn't show any sign of noticing them, too busy flirting shamelessly with Lord Devero. The latter finally tore his gaze from Jeremy's mouth to notice Rexley's presence. He started smiling but paled, meeting Rexley's gaze. "Your Highness," he said, clearing his throat and bowing.  
  
"Devero," Rexley said icily. "Winstol."  
  
Trouble gave Rexley a cold nod before turning back to Devero with a cute smile. Devero smiled back but kept fidgeting, throwing nervous glances to the Crown Prince who stood beside them.  
  
Rexley's face darkened as Trouble continued to pointedly ignore him, giving all his attention to Devero. "Jeremy," Rexley said finally, a muscle flexing in his jaw.   
  
Trouble reluctantly turned to him with a raised eyebrow. "Yes?"  
  
"May I have this waltz?" Rexley said very politely, extending his gloved hand.   
  
Trouble stared at it. "I'd be delighted, but there's no waltz for another hour and my dance card is full." He gave him the sweetest smile. "Sorry,  _Your Highness_."  
  
Rexley looked like he was torn between strangling and kissing the brat. He raised his hand and signaled to the musicians.   
  
"Now there is," he said as the waltz started playing. "May I?" He grabbed Trouble's hand and practically dragged him towards the middle of the ballroom.  
  
"Power corrupts," Trouble muttered darkly, glaring daggers at Rexley.  
  
Jim groaned quietly, hearing murmurs run among the crowd. The King-Consort would fucking kill him. What kind of a chaperone was he if he let his ward cause a scandal? But he hadn't known Rexley would make a scene. Wasn't he supposed to be Lord  _Responsible_?  
  
"I know, okay?" Jim said before Spock could say anything. "It's my fault, I know. You were right — I shouldn't have interfered." He sighed, watching Rexley and Trouble dance. "I tried to prevent one scandal, but caused another."  
  
Rexley and Jeremy danced beautifully, which surprised Jim; he'd seen Trouble dance waltz and he'd thought the kid had two left feet. But with Rexley, Jeremy didn't stumble even once.   
  
The problem was, they were the only couple dancing; no one seemed inclined to join them, which made the situation even more awkward.   
  
"Oh for crying out—" Jim muttered, and grabbing Spock's hand, pulled him toward Rexley and Trouble. Understanding him without a word, Spock immediately whirled him about the perimeter of the dancing floor. Jim sighed in relief when after a few moments other couples joined them.   
  
He looked at Spock and wet his lips, finding him eyeing his face. "Hey, why are you leading again?"  
  
Spock raised an eyebrow. "Have you not noticed that the older gentlemen always lead?"  
  
"Huh." Jim looked around. Spock was right. "Unfair."   
  
"They look good together," Spock commented unexpectedly, watching Rexley and Trouble, who were dancing nearby them.  
  
"Yeah, but the kid is too young for him," Jim said, watching Trouble scowl at the prince and say something to him, undoubtedly rude.  
  
"He is not," Spock said, making Jim look back at him.  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
Spock looked at the dancing couple thoughtfully. "Vulcans do not give biological age such importance as humans do. One should be judged on the basis of their experience, not their age. Jeremy is not a child. It is in his eyes, Captain. He may appear childish, but I gather it is a defense mechanism. I do not think he ever had a true childhood." Spock hesitated before saying, "In many ways, he reminds me of you."  
  
Jim's eyes widened and he averted his gaze back to the dancing couple, trying to swallow back the sudden tightness in his throat.  
  
"Yes, I really like Devero," he caught Trouble say to Rexley. The kid smiled softly at the prince. "He's so dreamy, don't you think? His auburn hair is so unusual—not like dull dark hair everyone else has."  
  
Rexley, an owner of 'dull dark hair,' didn't look very pleased. "Indeed?" he said through his teeth.  
  
Trouble nodded with a bright smile and said something, but Jim couldn't hear it.   
  
"Hey, what Trouble did just say?"   
  
"What makes you think I am listening to their conversation?"  
  
"Spock."  
  
" _Captain_."  
  
Jim scowled at him, and Spock had the nerve to look mildly amused.  
  
"Pouting is not a suitable behavior for a Starfleet Officer. Neither is eavesdropping," Spock patronized.  
  
"Oh please. Like you're not eavesdropping on their conversation."  
  
Spock raised a smug eyebrow. Jim's fingers twitched. "It is not eavesdropping if I cannot help it, Captain. My hearing is superior to yours."  
  
Jim wanted to strangle him. "I want to strangle you," he said aloud.  
  
"I am afraid it is an unadvisable course of action, because I do not think other guests would understand. You should attempt to restrain yourself."  
  
Jim grinned at him reluctantly. "Snarky bastard. So what are they talking about?"  
  
Spock glanced at the couple. "I believe Jeremy is attempting to provoke the feeling of jealousy from the prince. He is succeeding."   
  
Jim looked back to them. Rexley's face was stormy, and even the way Rexley's hand lay on Trouble's waist was practically declaring for everyone to see:  _mine_. He was looking at Jeremy with so much naked want, longing, and pent-up frustration that it made Jim uncomfortable as hell. Jeremy was  _sixteen_ , for fuck's sake. Rexley was a grown man. It was weird… and wrong, no matter what Spock said.   
  
"Geez, he's looking at Trouble like a man dying of thirst at a well," Jim said with a chuckle.  
  
Spock said nothing for a few long moments.   
  
"A curious analogy, but not incorrect," he said at last, looking Jim into the eye.  
  
Jim nearly stumbled, his heart jumping to his throat.   
  
"Well, it doesn't matter, huh?" he forced out with a smile. "Rexley has to do the right thing and keep his hands away from him."  
  
Spock looked at Rexley and Trouble, then back at him. "Indeed."  
  
Jim wished the dance would end right now. 

 

 

  
~*~  
  
 

 _Townsend Castle, Classige, Pruluce.  
_  
  
The morning started annoyingly similar to the previous day's.   
  
"Yeah, let him in, Jeffers," Jim muttered, not opening his eyes. It was too early, dammit. They'd returned from the ball at four in the morning, emotionally and physically exhausted. After the waltz, Rexley glued himself to Trouble's side, making it impossible for Trouble to flirt with anyone, and they spent the rest of the night glaring daggers at each other and arguing in lowered voices. Jim had spent the night hiding from the King-Consort (and Spock, if he was honest with himself).   
  
"Jim!" Trouble said, flopping onto the bed next to him.  
  
"What?"   
  
"You're in today's paper!"  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"You're in those stupid Regelence Society Papers! Sure, the first page is dedicated to Rexley and me, but that's hardly something new. I swear this writer hates my guts and has a major hard-on for Rexley. He calls himself 'This Author' — how pretentious is that? One day I'll find out who that prat is and break his stupid neck—"  
  
"You were saying something about me," Jim mumbled, yawning.   
  
"Yeah, you're on the second page! Here, I'm quoting: 'Another minor scandal was caused by two Englorian gentlemen, Mr. Kirk and Mr. Grayson, who danced two waltzes together, which is surprising enough in itself, but what makes it even more eyebrow-raising is the fact that they are brothers. What a scandal!"  
  
"Whoa, what?!" Jim jerked into a sitting position. "You made it up, right? Gimme that."  
  
"Nope, I didn't," Trouble said with a giggle, giving Jim the newspaper. "Read it yourself."  
  
"Shit," Jim said as he read further speculation. "Are they nuts? What's so weird about siblings dancing with each other a few times?"  
  
"Usually nothing," Trouble said, looking highly amused. "But when siblings gaze into each other’s eyes like lovesick fools and hold hands, it's pretty scandalous, don't you think? My, Jim, I didn't know you had it in you! Your own brother! What poor Nyota would think?"  
  
His cheeks heating up, Jim hit the kid with a pillow.  
  
Trouble laughed. "Ahhh, abuse! Jeffers, help!"   
  
"I'll show you abuse." Jim lunged forward and started tickling him.   
  
Trouble rolled all over the bed, squirming and squealing. "Ahh — stop, please! Jim, c'mon — stop it! C'mon — ahh — stop, Jim! Help! Help!"  
  
The door burst open, and they both turned their heads toward the door.  
  
Jim groaned. Of course—of course—it was no one other but Rexley. Who else would catch him straddling Trouble's hips, wearing nothing but his underwear?   
  
Trouble smiled. "Hi, Rexley! You look very red this morning. And have you developed a nervous tick on your face? You should go see a doctor—"  
  
"Get off of him."   
  
Jim rolled off Jeremy, eyeing Rexley warily. He could smell a fight in the air, and he was rarely wrong about that kind of thing.   
  
"Look, man—" he tried but shut up when Rexley glared at him.   
  
"You will never touch him again," he ground out before walking over to the bed and jerking Trouble into his arms and out of the bed. "What are you doing in his bed?"  
  
"Fuck off," Trouble snarled, writhing in Rexley's arms. "I'll do whatever I want, got it? You're like a dog in the manger, Rexley. You can't fucking—"   
  
But then Rexley kissed him. Trouble made a choked sound, but kissed back almost immediately, wrapping his arms around Rexley’s neck and tangling his fingers in Rexley’s hair.  
  
Jim could only stare at them, frozen.  
  
After several seconds, Rexley tore his mouth away with obvious effort and stared at Trouble, breathing hard, his hands clenching and unclenching into fists at his sides. A shadow crossed his face – self-loathing? Anger? Desperation?   
  
Tightening his jaw, Rexley turned around and left the room without a single word to either Trouble or Jim.   
  
Jim looked at Trouble. The kid looked like he'd been hit with a truck.  
  
"What the fuck," Trouble whispered, touching his swollen lips.

** ~*~ **

                                                                                                                                  

 

The breakfast was quiet. Muffin ate in her nursery, and Tarren and Colton looked sleepy. Trouble seemed far away. Rexley wasn't there — apparently, he had left for his boxing club. Spock seemed deep in thought and didn't participate in any conversation.  
  
Only the King and King-Consort were talking, discussing some new law. Jim didn't really pay attention; he was wondering if he could ask the royal couple about the Stargate, but no matter how hard he thought, he couldn't come up with the way to ask without drawing suspicion.  
  
"…is most worrisome. I'll use the emergency channel and contact Nate. He should have some insight."  
  
Jim's head snapped up. He stared at Raleigh, feeling his heartbeat speed up. Was it too much to hope that 'Nate' was some other Nate, not Trouble's dad?  
  
He looked at Spock. His dark eyes were grim.  
  
As soon as the breakfast was over, they went into Jim's quarters and Spock melded them. This time, Jim didn't tense at all when Spock entered his mind.  
  
_We might be exposed any minute,_  Spock said straight away, his worry apparent through the meld.  
  
_I know! Is there any chance that Raleigh won't mention us? They have more important things to discuss, right?_  
  
_I do not think so. There is less than two percent probability that Jeremy's father will not ask about his son's wellbeing.  
  
Fuck. What now? We still have no clue where the Stargate is, and even if we did, we don't have time to work out how the stupid thing works and come up with an energy source for it.  
  
You are incorrect on that account. This early morning, after the ball, I finally managed to break into Jeffers's database. I found all necessary information about the Stargate._  
  
Jim balked.  _What? Why didn't you tell me that sooner?_  
  
_There would have been no point. Apparently, the Stargate room can be reached from the castle, but we need to have a strong ATA gene to get access to it, which we obviously do not have. It is most unfortunate, because it appears we were mistaken in thinking that we would need to invent a power source for the Stargate. Regelen invented it 216 biological years ago._  
  
_What? Then why haven't they returned? Why haven't they contacted Earth?_  Jim said, confused as hell.  
  
_'Returned'? Earth had to be a home for them to wish to 'return.' Earth is not a home for Regelen, Captain; Regelence is their home now. When their scientists built their first ZPM, Regelen held a referendum and it turned out no one wished to go back to the planet of their ancestors. Most likely, their ancestors would have returned if they managed to build a ZPM, since Earth_ was _their home. However, later generations have no sentimental attachment to Earth, just curiosity, and curiosity was not enough for them to risk the stability and integrity of their society. Moreover, as far as Regelen knew, Earth society was not tolerant of homosexuality, and they had no reason to believe that it had changed since nineteenth century._  
  
Before Jim could reply, Spock continued,  _But that is of no relevance now. We do not have time. I am afraid the best course of action for us is to leave the castle before the truth is discovered and return to the Enterprise. Since you told Jeremy the ship's location, we need to move it from its current position — hopefully, Mr. Scott has repaired the impulse drive._  
  
_But what if we just talk to Steven and Raleigh? Yeah, we'd breach the Prime Directive, but, in this situation, I think it's the best thing we can do. They're nice enough men, and they might even help us, Spock._  
  
_Jim, they do appear to be ‘nice’ gentlemen, but the situation is more complicated than you think. Along with the information about the Stargate, I also found some other information. It appears Regelence and Englor are at the edge of war with a coalition of natives to this galaxy races - the IN. The IN are after the Ancients' technology, including the Stargate. That is why Regelen people know nothing about the Stargate's location – it was carefully hidden. For that reason, Steven and Raleigh would have no reason to trust us; they would think the IN sent us. The only reason Jeremy believed you is because he does not know of the IN._  
  
_… Shit.  
  
Indeed.  
  
All right, we're leaving, then. Right now. We'll tell the Townsends we're going shopping or something.  
  
Very well. I am—_  
  
The meld broke very abruptly.  
  
Jim opened his eyes and found Spock already on his feet and looking at the door.  
  
The door opened, and Raleigh Townsend stood in the doorway with a gun pointed at them and ice in his eyes.  
  
"Arrest them," he said curtly to security officers behind him.

 

~*~

 

  
Spock had been right: no one believed them. To tell the truth, if Jim were in their place, he wouldn't have believed them, either. After all, what was more likely: that they were spies sent by the familiar coalition, or that they were from the Milky Way, which was millions of light years away?  
  
Sighing, Jim looked at Spock, who was chained next to him. Spock's eyes were on Raleigh, who was asking him question after question in a hard voice. The loving father Jim had gotten used to had been replaced by a cold and ruthless man, pointedly reminding Jim that Raleigh was the Commander of the kingdom's forces.  
  
"I'm asking you for the last time: Who sent you? What planet of the coalition? Who is your direct boss?" Raleigh said, looking close to losing his temper.  
  
Jim wondered if they would be tortured for information. If they would, there was no one who could come to their aid. He grimaced, remembering Trouble's attempts to convince Raleigh and Steven that Jim wasn't a spy right after they were first arrested.  _He merely used you, Jeremy,_ Raleigh had said to the boy.  _He just pretended to be your friend, pretended to care about you. It was all a lie._  
  
Even now, hours later, if he closed his eyes, Jim could still see the growing uncertainty in Trouble's eyes that shifted into a betrayed look, then hurt, then anger. The kid had plenty of issues, Jim knew that, and fuck, he'd never meant to hurt Trouble in any way. He'd come to care about the kid, like he was a younger brother Jim had never had.  
  
_It wasn't a lie_ , Jim had tried to tell Trouble when Steven led him away. The kid hadn’t turned around.  
  
"My 'direct boss' is Captain James T. Kirk of the Federation flagship  _Enterprise_. He is sitting beside me," Spock replied for what felt like the hundredth time.  
  
Raleigh pressed his lips together. "The truth!" he barked out. "If your story were true, your ship would have been behind Brummell, as James told Jeremy. But we checked already and there is no starship there, much less from another galaxy."  
  
And that was what puzzled Jim. Where was the  _Enterprise_? Sure, he was happy that his crew wasn't under arrest like them, but the ship was supposed to be there. It'd been only three days since they last contacted the Enterprise, and the repairs had been nowhere near finished; they didn't even have the impulse drive online.  
  
"I told you the truth four times, Your Majesty. I have no further comment on the matter," Spock said evenly, in a flat tone that always annoyed the fuck out of Jim. It seemed to have the same effect of Raleigh: he let out a frustrated sigh, burying his hand in his hair.  
  
"Take them to the dungeons," he snapped to the security officers.  
  
Jim barely suppressed laughter. If only Raleigh knew how often they'd heard that particular sentence since the beginning of the five-year mission. It probably didn't say anything complimentary about them. (But then again, they  _had_ managed to escape all those dungeons.)  
  
Jim's humor evaporated when he realized that 'the dungeons' were really  _dungeons_ , not just a cell underground. They were dark, cold and damp, lit only by moonlight streaming in from a tiny, barred window at the far end. Jim could hear nothing but the steady drip of water from somewhere towards the back of the dungeons. He shivered, wrapping his arms around himself as he and Spock were pushed inside and the heavy door was closed behind them.  
  
Spock was silent next to him, his silence harsher than a thousand words.  
  
Jim heaved a sigh. "Fine, I know—it's my fault for not thinking things through and endangering the mission. I'm illogical, irresponsible, and impulsive. Now that we’ve established that, would you please stop this silent treatment you've got going? Please?"  
  
"I told you that staying in the castle was risky."  
  
Jim chuckled, shaking his head. "No one can say 'I told you so' quite like you can, Spock." He felt his teeth start chattering as the cold air crawled through him. "Quit pouting, okay?"  
  
"I am not 'pouting,'" Spock said coldly, taking Jim by his wrist and walking forward. Jim didn't resist; it was pointless. They both knew Spock's eyesight was better than his, and this way, it was less likely for Jim to trip and break his skull — the ground was very uneven.  
  
Jim strained his eyes, trying vainly to see something. "Is there anything we can sleep on that isn’t the ground?"  
  
"I believe I can see a mattress ahead, but it does not look particularly comfortable or dry."  
  
"Fantastic," Jim muttered. "It's the castle of the fucking royal family and they don't even have decent dungeons."  
  
"I think these dungeons have not been used in quite some time – possibly centuries."  
  
"Somehow, I don't feel honored," Jim said. "You think they're gonna starve us here until we're ready to spill our dark secrets for a chunk of bread?"  
  
"It is possible. Neither Raleigh nor Steven gives me the impression of an individual who would implement physical torture."  
  
Spock let go of his wrist and seated himself on what Jim assumed was the mattress. Jim looked down dubiously but followed suit. The mattress was thin and damp, and Jim winced, thinking of all the bacteria. He almost smiled — it looked like Bones's paranoia had rubbed off on him.  
  
"Where do you think the ship is?" Jim said, pulling his knees to his chest and wrapping his arms around them to warm himself. It didn't help much. The air was so damp it left a residue on his skin, and the frigid cold clung to his thin linen shirt, making him shiver uncontrollably.  
  
"The only explanation I can think of is that Mr. Scott managed to improve the cloaking device in our absence and cloaked the ship upon noticing the approaching Regelence ships."  
  
"Yeah, I thought the s—same thing."  
  
Kirk could practically feel Spock’s eyebrow raise in the darkness. "Your teeth are chattering. You are cold."  
  
"No shit, Sherlock."  
  
A moment of silence. "You are not allowed to become ill, Captain. If you do, you will be a nuisance when we attempt to escape."  
  
Jim snorted a laugh, stroking his arms. "Very touching, Spock. D—don't worry – if I get s—sick, you can always leave me here."  
  
More silence.  
  
"You know very well that I will not leave you." Spock’s tone was brusque, almost angry.  
  
Jim licked his lips as the tension rose in the air. Yeah. He knew.  
  
He knew Spock wouldn't leave him even if he were sick beyond help — just as Jim wouldn't leave Spock — and not because of the whole 'never leave a man behind' thing. Life was no fairytale, and both Spock and Jim had had to leave crewmembers behind because sometimes there really was no fucking choice and the needs of many did outweigh the needs of the few, no matter how much Jim hated it.  
  
But with Spock, it was different. He'd violated the Prime Directive for Spock on Nibiru, losing command of the Enterprise, and deep in his gut, Jim knew that if, one day, he would be given the choice to leave Spock behind or endanger his crew, he might choose the wrong thing.  
  
He  _might_ choose the wrong thing.  
  
Jim's lips twisted. Some starship captain he was. It made him pissed as hell — at himself, at Spock, at that weird needy not-friendship  _thing_  between them. And, as much as he'd laughed at Trouble for thinking that he had the hots for Spock, if Jim was honest with himself, it wasn't as ridiculous as he’d made it sound. It wasn't ridiculous at all.  
  
The thing was, Jim knew perfectly well that this  _whatever_ between them had the potential to grow into much more, if only they’d allow it. He wasn't oblivious; somewhere in the back of his mind he was aware that their constant arguing was just an outlet. The tension, the  _spark_  was there and would probably result in some pretty spectacular sex if they let it, but the truth was, Jim didn't want to go there. Yeah, okay, maybe it was a coward's way, but he had his reasons — multiple good reasons.  
  
First off, if it was so bad now, how much worse would it get if they took that step? He couldn't afford to make irrational, emotionally-charged mistakes in the line of duty. That thing was already messing with his perspective, making him forget about things like honor and duty. So no, they weren't going there.  
  
Moreover, fraternization in the chain of command was strictly forbidden by Starfleet regulations, and was actually the reason why Spock and Uhura had broken up before the beginning of the five-year mission. Jim loved the _Enterprise_ too much to risk it all for some _thing_ he couldn't even name. He supposed it was the same for Spock — after all, he'd broken up with his girlfriend for the  _Enterprise_ , so why would he wish to risk everything for one illogical and irrational Jim Kirk?

Except… maybe he would. When Jim closed his eyes, he could still remember the tears in Spock's eyes as he watched him die. Sure, he was half-delirious at the time, but Jim was reasonably sure he hadn't imagined that. And he'd been told Spock nearly killed Khan with his bare hands. Not that they ever talked about it.  
  
But the problem was, Jim couldn't even disagree with the fraternization regulation, because Starfleet was right – fraternization could result in disaster, especially when one was a Captain or a First Officer and was responsible for the lives of 1,486 people. Especially when the aforementioned Captain and First Officer had a fucked-up, needy not-quite-relationship going on.  
  
So it was safer to pretend that the thing between them didn't exist, and, all things considered, Jim thought they were doing a pretty good job at that. They never mentioned it, never acknowledged it, and tried to keep as much professional distance as possible. Mostly, it worked, but sometimes, like now, they slipped a bit, making both of them painfully aware of its existence.  
  
Jim tightened his arms around his knees. "Yeah," he said finally, staring blankly at the darkness.  
  
There was a silence for a few minutes broken only by the distant drops of water. Jim's shivers worsened.  
  
"We should share body heat," Spock said, breaking the silence.  
  
Jim blinked, then laughed harshly. "You're k-kidding, right? No way."  
  
"I am not 'kidding,' Captain."  
  
Jim turned to look at Spock's barely discernable figure. "You've got to be f-fucking with me. We  _can't_ share the body heat, and you know it, dammit."  
  
There, he'd said that. It was the first time either of them came this close to acknowledging the proverbial elephant in the room.  
  
Spock was silent, barely even breathing. Jim couldn't quite believe himself; they'd been circling around the whole issue for so long that it was bizarre to actually discuss it.  
  
Finally, Spock cleared his throat.  
  
"I believe I will manage to restrain myself from ‘ravishing’ you, Captain," he said dryly.  
  
Jim glared in Spock’s direction, feeling his face grow hot with humiliation. He'd always thought — when he actually allowed himself to think about it — that the situation was as difficult for Spock as it was for him. Apparently not. Apparently, it was more one-sided than he'd thought.  
  
"Go to hell," Jim snapped, then winced, because  _yeah, lame._  
  
Spock was silent for a moment or two.  
  
"I insist on sharing the body heat, Captain. I do not understand why we should not do the logical thing." A pause. "Unless you think that you cannot restrain yourself—"  
  
Jim gaped at him in outrage. "You — you smug, self-important — I assure you, right now I'd rather p-punch your smug face than—!" He scooted over, right into Spock's personal space and felt Spock stiffen. "And you know what? I don't believe your bullshit, Spock."  
  
"Your meaning escapes me, Captain," Spock said, infuriatingly unruffled.  
  
"Yeah?" Jim said, leaning even closer. "So you're saying that it's just me, and you feel nothing, right?"  
  
"Correct."  
  
"Oh yeah?" Jim said in a low voice. "So you have no slightest urge… Not even the slightest urge to touch me? To screw me silly?"  
  
He felt a barely noticeable change in Spock's breathing. "Correct," Spock repeated.  
  
Jim chuckled. "Remember that conversation we had about Vulcans and whether they're able to lie? Of course you do; you probably remember every word. And  _I_ remember what you told me: that Vulcans are quite capable of lying when it suits them, when they think it's the logical thing to do." Jim leaned forward, whispering into Spock’s ear. "You're one lying son-of-a-bitch, Commander."  
  
"Do not… do that," Spock said, his voice cracking a little.  
  
"I wouldn't, usually," Jim murmured, his pulse quickening as he nuzzled Spock's ear. "But you know me, Spock. I can be a jerk, and right now, my pride is pretty wounded. Now, admit it: you're crazy about your illogical and immature Captain."  
  
"I will admit no such thing," Spock said very evenly. "And speaking of yourself in the third person qualifies you as 'crazy,' not myself."  
  
Oh, he was  _good_. Jim would have bought it if he couldn't feel Spock's ragged, uneven breathing.  
  
He smiled, then murmured into Spock's ear, "Don't like the word 'crazy,' huh? Okay. I'll use other words." Unable to stop himself, he pressed his lips behind Spock's ear. "I'm not an idiot, you know. I can tell these things. I know you want me as much as I want you, maybe even more."  
  
"Cease speaking," Spock grated out, his whole body rigid.  
  
"It's in your eyes when you look at me." Jim bit Spock's earlobe lightly, then harder. Spock gasped. "You wanna fuck your Captain, badly. You want to bind him to you, so that he'd always be there, in your sight, within reach. You can't imagine commanding the  _Enterprise_ without him and it scares the shit out of you. Close enough?"  
  
Spock's took a shaky breath in. "This is—"  
  
"I know," Jim said, pressing his half-parted lips to Spock's neck. "God, I know," he muttered, burying his face in the crook of Spock's neck and shoulder.  
  
Spock was silent, but didn't push him away. Jim could feel the rapid pulse against his cheek, Spock's subtle scent filling his nostrils. Jim breathed in, and out, again and again. He felt almost high, his hands itching to slide under Spock's clothes and touch, stroke, caress. His cock was fully hard, but the weird thing was, he would be content — no, happy — to do nothing about his hard-on, if he was allowed just to stay like that, pressed against Spock, and breathe him in.  
  
It felt like heaven. _Warm, good, Spock._ _  
_  
Then he felt like laughing, because how fucked up he was if he'd never felt better in his life than at this very moment in these cold, damp dungeons, just leaning against Spock? It was pretty pathetic.  
  
Jim felt Spock took a deep breath and knew he was going to speak.  
  
"We cannot."  
  
Jim wondered if that was it when Spock continued, "I do not wish this. I do not — It is wrong, and illogical, and—"  
  
"Against regulations," Jim supplied.  
  
"Yes. Against regulations," Spock repeated with obvious relief. Jim wondered if Spock was aware that his hand had crawled under Jim's shirt and was stroking his lower back.  
  
"We might be demoted," Jim said, nuzzling Spock's neck.  
  
"Yes," Spock said hoarsely, his warm hand gliding along Jim's spine. Jim shivered and bit Spock's neck. Sucked.  
  
"And reassigned," he managed. "We'd be reassigned."  
  
"Indeed," Spock whispered into Jim's hair. "Therefore—" Spock started kissing along Jim's jaw line. "—the logical thing to do is to stop."  
  
Jim gasped as Spock pulled him tighter to himself, practically pulling Jim into his lap. He straddled Spock's thighs, his hands on Spock's chest. "Want me?" he whispered into Spock's mouth and ground their crotches together.  
  
Spock made a choked sound. " _Yes_."  
  
"Then fuck logic," Jim said. "We're in another galaxy, millions light years away from Starfleet. Chances are, we might never return home. Hell, chances are, we'll never leave these dungeons."  
  
Spock's chest was heaving against Jim's hands. "You do not actually believe it."  
  
Jim sighed. "Can’t just take the easy way out, can you? Yeah, we'll probably get rescued somehow — we always do — but that's not the point, Spock." He leaned in and kissed him. Spock sucked in a shaky breath between their lips, his hands coming up to rest on Jim's waist. "The point is, here, now, we can pretend that there's no tomorrow, there's no Starfleet, and there aren’t 1,486 people under our command to worry about.  
  
"Just once," Jim whispered, sucking on Spock's bottom lip. Christ, it felt so—  
  
"It is — unwise," Spock managed, but his hand was already tugging Jim's shirt off.  
  
"Just once," Jim pleaded, kissing Spock's chin. "No one would know," he whispered against Spock's mouth.  _What the fuck are you doing?_  some miniscule part of him was screaming.  _This has 'Bad Idea' written all over it._  
  
Spock's breathing hitched against his lips. They weren't kissing; just breathing the same air. "It would be a mistake," he said, his voice shaking. "Starfleet—"  
  
"—would never find out." Jim pressed their lips together, tentatively. "C'mon, Spock. We'll just get it out of our systems and move on. It doesn't have to be a thing. Just now or  _never_ —"  
  
Spock made an odd sound and shoved his tongue inside Jim's mouth. Gasping, Jim kissed him back, urging him closer. It was sloppy, messy, driven by sheer want. Jim's head was spinning from pleasure as they fumbled desperately with their clothes, groping at each other. He wanted  _now, more_ , his hands and lips everywhere.  
  
Finally, they both were naked, Jim straddling Spock's thighs, their cocks trapped between their stomachs. Reaching down, he found Spock's dick and gasped into Spock's mouth at the velvety feel. The penis was very warm, very slick — self-lubricating? It throbbed in Jim's hand, becoming slicker with every movement. Spock groaned into Jim's mouth, his hands stroking along the curve of Jim's back and ass. Spock's scent, skin, taste and  _fuck_.  
  
Jim tore his mouth away long enough to say, "Fuck me," and was that his voice? "Fuck me, Spock."  
  
"You are shameless," Spock said hoarsely, massaging slick fingers against Jim's entrance.  
  
Moaning, Jim grinned dazedly. "You love it. C'mon,  _in_."  
  
"Vulcans do not engage in meaningless sexual intercourse," Spock murmured as he worked two fingers into Jim's hole.  
  
"Screw Vulcans," Jim breathed, fucking himself impatiently on the fingers, and holy shit, it was  _Spock's_ fingers in his ass. The thought was so intoxicating that he didn't even tense up when a third finger joined the first two. So full. So stretched. It'd been a while and fuck, he'd forgotten how  _intense_ anal sex was when he was on the receiving end. Although it was only Spock's fingers, he was already beginning to lose it. That was why he usually topped, even though, in all honesty, he preferred getting fucked.  
  
God, it was—  
  
Jim was aware of the hoarse, wanton noises he was making as he rode Spock's fingers, but he couldn't stop. His cock bobbed against his belly, painfully hard.  
  
"C'mon," Jim growled finally, squirming on the fingers impatiently. "Cock. Let’s  _fuck_."  
  
"Always so impatient, Jim," Spock chided through his teeth but pulled his fingers out. A moment later, they were replaced by Spock's cock.  
  
"Fuck," Jim groaned as Spock started pushing into him with shallow thrusts, holding Jim up above his cock, and damn, Spock's strength was a huge turn-on.  
  
Finally, he was buried to the hilt. Jim gasped for breath, trying not to come on the spot.  
  
"Is it… good?" Spock ground out.  
  
"Yeah. Move. Please —  _God_."  
  
Spock fucked him hard, without mercy or restraint, losing all trace of his usual composure. They kissed, exhaling noises into each other's mouths as they fucked so hard it burned. He would have bruises on his hips from Spock's fingers, but fuck if he cared as long as Spock didn't stop. Tomorrow, in an hour, or in a few minutes, he would regret this, he knew, but  _now_ , Spock was his and he was Spock's, and Jim didn't give a fuck about the rest of the world.  
  
Spock pushed him back on the mattress and started thrusting even harder. Jim growled low in his throat, giving himself up to the rhythm of their bodies. So good, so fucking good, and he never wanted this to end – wanted it and dreaded it at the same time, because coming would mean that it would stop.  
  
"God," he gasped, pressing his face into Spock's neck, and Spock hugged him hard as he pounded into Jim, taking him fast as he mouthed heated kisses onto Jim’s skin. It was dizzying, breathtaking, and before long, Jim let out a groan of mingled relief and disappointment when his orgasm finally ripped through him.  
  
He lay lax while Spock continued taking his own pleasure, hard body strung with urgency. Jim just lay there and held him, letting his body be used, until Spock shuddered and thrust into him one final time, groaning out as he emptied itself into Jim.  
  
They lay holding each other for a long time before Jim felt himself drift off.

 

 

 

  
  
                                                                                                    ~*~

 

 

  
Jim stirred awake abruptly.  
  
At first, he was disoriented by the complete darkness before the memories came back. The arrest. The dungeons. Spock.  _Spock_. He was lying in Spock's arms and holy hell, they'd had sex.  
  
Jim stiffened when he heard a noise — probably the reason he'd woken up.  
  
"What’s that?" he said, sensing that Spock was awake and listening, too.  
  
"Someone is knocking on the dungeon door," Spock replied quietly, his hand still on Jim's back. Jim's very naked back. Dammit.  _Later_. He would freak out later.  
  
"Who would knock on the dungeon door?"  
  
"An intriguing question," Spock noted, sitting up.  
  
"Let's find out." Jim sat up, too, and started dressing as quickly as possible. Away from Spock's warmth, he started shivering again. He got to his feet and fastened his shirt; Spock was doing the same next to him.  
  
Finally, when they both were decent, Spock took him by the wrist again. Ignoring the way his skin tingled from Spock's touch, Jim followed him toward what he assumed was the door. A few steps further, he stumbled on a rock and would have fallen face down if Spock hadn't caught him.  
  
"Dammit." He couldn't even see his own hand before him. It felt like he was blind.  
  
"Be careful," Spock said, sliding his hand down Jim's wrist. Somehow, their fingers entwined again.  
  
Jim licked his lips.  _It means nothing_ , he told himself. They fucked; that was it. Now they were back to the strictly professional CO-XO relationship. Holding hands was only logical so that they wouldn't fall and break their necks.  
  
Yeah. Right. And if he repeated it a few more times, maybe he'd believe that.  
  
The noise was becoming louder the closer they got to the door. Someone was definitely knocking.  
  
"Who is that?" Spock said as they finally stopped. He didn't let go of Jim's hand. Jim didn't withdraw it.  
  
"It's me," a familiar voice said, sounding a bit muffled.  
  
"Trouble?" Jim said, his eyebrows flying up. "How did you get here? Aren't we guarded?"  
  
"Not really; it's impossible to get into the castle because of its security system, so Jeffers is the only one guarding you, and well, Payton told me about a loophole in Jeffers's system, and I'm almost as good with computers as he is."  
  
"But what are you doing here?"  
  
There was a moment of silence before Trouble spoke again, "Did you — Are you really the IN's spies?"  
  
Jim smiled. "You do realize that even if we were, we'd answer 'no' anyway, right?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
Sighing, Jim let go of Spock's hand and said, "Look, I don't know what to say, kid. It's a matter of trust. Nothing I can say would prove anything."  
  
Trouble was silent for a while. Jim could guess how hard it was for the kid to trust – he'd grown up on a space station, thinking that his parents abandoned him, alone in the whole world since he was a toddler, relying on nothing but his own strength. Jim knew better than anyone that some habits really did die hard and some issues never truly disappeared, no matter how many new friends you made.  
  
But the fact that Trouble had come here at all said a lot.  
  
"OK," Trouble said before they heard the sound of the lock being shoved aside.  
  
Jim's mouth fell open. He couldn't believe Trouble was letting them out just like that. What if they really  _were_ IN spies? They would have killed the kid and the whole family in their beds.  
  
The heavy door opened and Jim blinked furiously at the sudden light.  
  
When his eyes adjusted, he'd found himself looking at Trouble who was holding a flashlight and a gun.  
  
Jim stared at the gun. The gun stared back.  
  
Trouble raised his eyebrows and smiled. "What? You didn't really think I was stupid enough to come here unarmed?"  
  
Jim smiled, feeling pretty proud. "Good thinking, kiddo. But to be honest, you shouldn't have let us out at all. What if we really were the bad guys?"  
  
"Captain," Spock warned in a voice that clearly said 'shut up.'  
  
Trouble shrugged. "Well, if you tried to attack me, I would just kill you. Of course, Raleigh and Steven would be disappointed, but well, it couldn't be helped."  
  
Jim chuckled. "So what's the plan, Trouble? I take it you didn't turn Jeffers off?"  
  
"Nope; I'm no Payton. Also, turning Jeffers off would compromise the castle’s security."  
  
"Then what are you suggesting, Jeremy?" Spock said.  
  
Trouble stared at him for a few moments before looking back at Jim and smirking. "Any reason you guys are wearing each other's shirts?"  
  
_Crap_. Flushing, Jim looked down, but he was wearing his own shirt.  
  
"Ha!" Trouble said triumphantly. "I knew it!"  
  
Jim glared at him, feeling his cheeks heat up even more.  
  
"We have no time for this," Spock said evenly, looking disgustingly composed. "How do you intend to get us out of the castle? I presume that is your intention?"  
  
Trouble nodded. "I cleared the way to the back door – put Jeffers on a video loop. He shouldn't notice a thing."  
  
"'Shouldn't'?" Jim said, raising his eyebrows.  
  
Trouble gave him a sheepish smile. " _Won't_. Let's go." He turned around and started walking.  
  
"Never turn your back on a possible enemy," Jim said, following him. Spock did the same.  
  
Trouble snorted. "I'm not dumb, Jim. Even if you were an enemy, and I don't think you are, we all know that you'd never find the way out without me. If you make one wrong step, Jeffers will detect you, and you'll be surrounded within a minute."  
  
"Your logic is sound," Spock said.  
  
Jim chuckled. "Mark this day in the calendar, Trouble. It's not every day people get such a flattering compliment from Spock."  
  
"Shh," Trouble hissed. "We're gonna soon pass past the princes' rooms, so we have to be quiet so that they won't hear us. I know it seems stupid to go upstairs just to go downstairs, but I had no choice—"  
  
"Wait," Jim said, stopping. "I have an idea. Give me your gun, kid."  
  
"Whaat? Why?"  
  
"We need to get to the Stargate. If we leave the castle now, we'll never get another opportunity."  
  
Trouble looked at him with narrowed eyes. "And what exactly are you planning to do with the gun? I won't let you threaten the information out of the Townsends. Who are you gonna use it against?"  
  
Jim smiled. "You."  
  
"Are you shitting me?"  
  
"Nope. We'll pretend that we're holding you hostage to get the information out of Rexley."  
  
Trouble snorted. "Rexley? Please. He doesn't care enough about me to give you something that could potentially threaten national security."  
  
Jim grinned. "Wanna bet? I'm pretty sure he'd sell his kingdom to protect you."  
  
Trouble stared at him. "You're insane, Jim."  
  
"I hear that every day."  
  
Trouble ran a hand through his hair, sighing. "If I agree, you promise not to hurt him?"  
  
Jim wiggled his eyebrows. "Why, I didn't know you cared."  
  
Trouble glared at him, blushing. "Shut up."  
  
Jim smirked. "Payback is a bitch. So? Wanna bet?"  
  
"Fine." Trouble handed him the gun. "But don't kill him."  
  
Jim grinned. "Won't. Lead us to Rexley's room."  
  
"This way," Trouble said, quickening his steps. Jim and Spock followed.  
  
Finally, Trouble stopped before a door and whispered to them, "I didn't turn off the audio in bedrooms, so we can't make any noise."  
  
Jim nodded, and holding the gun to Trouble's neck, pushed the door open.  
  
Rexley seemed to be sound asleep. They tiptoed to the bed.  
  
Spock clasped his hand against Rexley's mouth.  
  
The prince's eyes snapped open, his whole body stiffening. The room was bright enough in the moonlight for Rexley to see the gun pointed to Trouble's neck. His eyes widened, then narrowed.  
  
Spock gestured Rexley to be quiet and motioned for him to get up.  
  
Rexley did, not looking away from Trouble. He was wearing white pajamas, so Spock didn't bother telling him to get dressed and instead pushed him out of the bedroom, still keeping his hand clasped over Rexley's mouth.  
  
As they were out of the bedroom, Jim told to Rexley quietly, "You won't make a sound. Do what we want, or the kid will get hurt. Is that understood?"  
  
If looks could kill, Jim would be dead three times over.  
  
Rexley nodded.  
  
"Good." Jim nodded. "Now, take us to the Stargate. I know you know where it is and that you can get us there."  
  
Rexley's eyes narrowed. He didn't move. Jim pointedly pressed the gun harder into Trouble's neck.  
  
Glowering at him, Rexley nodded.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

~*~

 

  
  
They followed Rexley to the transporter. As the prince touched it, it glowed blue and slid open. They all got inside, and the doors closed.  
  
Rexley stared at the console.  
  
"If you do something stupid, I'll kill the kid," Jim said in his sternest tone. "Take us to the Stargate and make sure that no one will get alerted."  
  
With another сold glare at Jim, Rexley touched the console, and, after a few moments, the doors opened again.  
  
Jim looked out but could see nothing but darkness. "Where are we? Does Jeffers monitor this level, too?"  
  
Spock removed his hand from Rexley's mouth, letting him speak.  
  
"Jeffers does monitor this level, but it doesn't matter," Rexley said. "This is very deep underground and the only way to get here is through transporters. Aiden and I are the only Regelen with the ATA gene strong enough to use them, and Aiden is off-planet."  
  
Jim looked at Spock. "Is that true?"  
  
Spock nodded. "Yes."  
  
"C'mon, then," Jim said, motioning Rexley to go ahead.  
  
As Rexley stepped out of the turbolift, the room started lighting up as if by magic.  
  
"The ATA gene," Spock said, looking intrigued. "Ancient technology senses his presence."  
  
They followed Rexley down the long corridor, Spock clasping the prince's arms behind his back. "What if there's no one born with the strong ATA gene in the royal family?" Jim said, bored of the silence. "They won't be able to get here anymore, then."  
  
Rexley ignored at him, so Spock said, "The royal couple always has multiple children to assure that they get one with the strong gene. I am surprised Steven and Raleigh had four more children after the Crown Prince."  
  
"It might be a foreign concept for you, but my parents wanted many children," Rexley said coldly just as the transporter at the end of the corridor whooshed open. This transporter was a bit different than the other one – it was covered in a layer of dust, for one thing.  
  
They got inside, and Rexley touched the console again.  
  
As they stepped out of the transporter, Jim sensed that they weren't in the castle anymore. "Where are we?" he asked.  
  
"The Ancient base," Rexley said stiffly.  
  
The lights started coming up as Rexley led them deeper into the building, which was full of strange artefacts and technology. Acutely aware that they belonged to a civilization from millions of years ago, Jim made sure not to touch anything. It was weird — he'd lost count of how many alien civilizations they had met, but he’d never felt that they were truly  _alien_. This one  _felt_ alien.  
  
Finally, they entered a big room, and Jim stared at the big stony ring with symbols on it.  
  
"Wow. So this is the Stargate?" Trouble said in awe.  
  
They walked closer.  
  
"Fascinating," Spock kept muttering, examining the Stargate with light in his eyes. Even though Jim liked watching Spock in 'fascinated mode,' this was neither the time nor the place.  
  
"Spock, we don't have time for that," Jim said pointedly, looking around warily; he didn't believe that there was no regular entrance into the building. "Hurry up. You know how this thing works, right?"  
  
"Theoretically," Spock said, still examining the Stargate.  
  
Jim’s jaw dropped. " _Theoretically_?"  
  
Spock gave him a look. "Captain, this level of technology is far beyond what we are capable of. Theoretically, I understand the mechanics of wormhole travel, but it is the first time I am encountering such technology." He walked to some console with symbols on it — the dialing thing, Jim guessed. Spock touched it and stared at the screen for a few moments. "The Stargate does not have any power source plugged in. We need a ZPM."  
  
"We need a ZPM, Rexley," Jim said pointedly, pushing the gun harder into Trouble's neck.  
  
Rexley's jaw tightened before he walked over to the wall and touched it. The panel opened, revealing three yellow glassy devices. "Here."  
  
Spock took the ZPMs, found a rucksack, and, after carefully putting two of them in it, handed the rucksack to Jim. "We will take them with us, for a return trip."  
  
With the third ZPM in his hands, Spock walked back to the console and started working on connecting the ZPM to the Stargate, still muttering 'fascinating' under his breath.  
  
Minutes passed by as Spock worked. Jim alternated between watching Spock, watching Rexley and watching the door.  
  
"Let us go," Rexley finally said, giving Jim a hard look.  
  
"Sorry, can't," Jim said with a shrug.  
  
"Let Jeremy go, then. I will stay."  
  
Jim contemplated it for a moment before shaking his head. He didn't trust Rexley not to do something stupidly brave if Trouble left. Hell, for all he knew, the whole room was full of Ancient weapons and Rexley was just waiting for an opportunity.  
  
"Dammit, Spock, how long it's gonna take? It's been ten minutes."  
  
The corners of Spock's mouth tightened. "Captain, do you have even the slightest idea how complicated this technology is? This device is very dangerous. Imagine the amount of energy it requires to form a stable wormhole between galaxies. Stargates were normally used to travel within a galaxy, not between them. A small mistake, and we all could be dead. Regelen scientists had centuries to study this technology, and you are expecting me to do it in ten minutes."  
  
"You're thousands times smarter than they are, come on. Just put it in, Spock!"  
  
Spock's hands stilled for a moment and Jim belatedly remembered how he was demanding Spock to "put it in" just a few hours ago. Spock looked up and met his gaze. Jim felt his face heat up. He cleared his throat, trying to ignore the stirring in his groin. "Hurry up. Do it faster—" Jim cut himself off, groaning on the inside.  _Take your mind out of the gutter, Kirk._  
  
Spock gave him a strange, long look before returning his gaze to the ZPM.  
  
"What I don't understand," Jim said after a few more minutes, "is why no one has come across any Stargates in Milky Way."  
  
"It is a matter I have been pondering as well," Spock said, continuing working on the ZPM. Jim stared at his long, strong fingers and felt hot all over again. He could almost feel those fingers working him open, stretching him. He was still a bit sore from the sex. Jim winced, feeling himself harden.  
  
"It appears that the Ancients had a formidable enemy, the Ori, who spread a terrible plague through the Milky Way, with the intention to wipe all life off the face of the galaxy that was nourished by the Ancients. To prevent the plague from spreading between worlds, the Ancients had to destroy all existing Stargates, except for a few. However, from what I understand, it was too late."  
  
"Hmm," Jim said, wondering how scary those Ori must have been if they intimidated even the guys who were technologically advanced enough to invent nearly instantaneous transportation between galaxies. Jim really didn't want to come across those guys. Hopefully they were long dead, like Ancients.  
  
"Hey, what happened to Ancients? Why aren't they around?"  
  
"It happened many millennia ago, so I can only hypothesize," Spock replied, not looking up. "It appears part of them ascended. Part of them died from the plague. A few mated with humans. That is why some humans possess the Ancient gene in their DNA."  
  
"Ascended," Jim repeated. "That was a waste of a perfectly good explanation."  
  
"It is ready," Spock said as the ZPM lit in an orange glow.  
  
Jim grinned in relief. "About time."  
  
Spock stood in front of the dialing console. "I am ready to dial Earth," he said, and was that  _excitement_ in his voice? But hell, Spock probably had a hard-on from just touching such a sophisticated, fascinating technology.  
  
"Hurry up," Jim said, glancing toward the door. They had to leave. It was a pity they couldn't contact the _Enterprise_ , but they had no choice. They needed to return to Earth to report to Starfleet and get necessary materials to repair their warp drive. After that— Jim didn't know what would come afterward, and preferred not to think about it. It was something they all had avoided discussing during the briefing and something Jim had pushed to the back of his mind, figuring that they would worry about it after they found the Stargate.  
  
The truth was, they couldn't take the  _Enterprise_ back to the Milky Way through the Stargate. Leaving the ship behind was unthinkable, and maybe it wouldn't be necessary –maybe Spock or Scotty, or someone else at Starfleet would pull a miracle out of their ass and figure out how to take the ship back to Milky Way – but right now they had no choice. They had to leave. If they didn't leave now, they might not have another chance to contact Starfleet. Jim knew Scotty would take a good care of the ship while they were gone.  
  
Spock tentatively touched a symbol on the console. Jim almost jumped as the Stargate made a sharp noise and its inner circle spun. Then, it stopped. A chevron lit up.  
  
"Chevron one, encoded," Spock said.  
  
"Spock, come  _on_."  
  
Spock gave him a hard look before  _sighing_ like a kid who had been denied his favorite toy and punching six more symbols in quick succession. The inner ring gave off metallic shrieks and groans as it ponderously spun around its track. Each chevron locked with a clash, and the whole contraption shuddered in its mountings while friction-generated steam rolled off of it.  
  
"Chevron seven, encoded," Spock said. "One more," he said, looking unusually excited by Spock's standards, and gingerly touched the console again.  
  
Jim bit his bottom lip hard.  _C'mon_.  
  
The Stargate made a hissing noise, and as the last chevron encoded, a violent wave erupted from the center of the circle, only to dissipate just as quickly leaving a circle of blue water rippling in the hole.  
  
"Chevron eight, locked," Spock said faintly, staring at the Stargate.  
  
Jim grinned. " It worked!"  
  
"Wow," Trouble breathed out. Even Rexley looked fascinated.  
  
Spock was almost smiling. "Indeed. Sending a scanner through the Stargate." He pushed some button; a ball flew to the Stargate and disappeared inside.  
  
"Huh?" Jim said, confused.  
  
"We need to know that the planet on the other side is indeed Earth, since Regelen have never used Earth's address that they found in Ancient database. Also, we do not know how safe it is on the other side. According to Regelen, when their ancestors left Earth, the Stargate was located in secret dungeons under the Duke of Pruluce's country estate. For all we know, the dungeons might have been destroyed—  
  
Spock cut himself off, looking at the screen. "Receiving telemetry. Dark room... oxygen... We have live support. It looks like some kind of dungeons." Spock looked at Jim. "We must hurry, Captain. I do not know how long the wormhole will be stable."  
  
Jim threw the rucksack over his shoulder. "Let's go, then?"  
  
Spock looked at Trouble. "Yes, but we will have to take him with us—"  
  
"No!" Rexley said at the same time as Trouble asked, "Why?"  
  
Jim sighed. "Spock's right. If we don't have a hostage when we return to Regelence, we'll be killed the moment we step out of the Stargate." He pushed Trouble slightly, whispering into his ear. "Sorry, kid, but it's necessary. It won't take long, I promise. A week, tops."  
  
Trouble nodded, looking ridiculously excited to be a hostage.  
  
"You aren't taking him," Rexley said, walking toward Jim.  
  
"Stop where you are, Your Highness," Jim said in a low voice, pushing the gun against Trouble's neck. "Or I'll kill him and take you."  
  
Rexley went still, his face twisting with rage. Jim even felt a bit sorry for him. "Spock, let's go."  
  
"One moment, Captain," Spock said. Finding a video camera in the corner, Spock looked right at it. "Your Majesties, you should understand that we have no choice but to do it. You did not wish to believe us, but we are indeed from Earth, as it will be obvious to you from the address we dialed. Please, do not attempt to follow us — if you do, Jeremy might get hurt. I suggest you to simply wait. We shall return from Earth in a few days, and Jeremy will not be harmed in any way."  
  
"Spock, c'mon — let's go," Jim said, stopping before the Stargate.  
  
"Looks like a puddle of water," Trouble murmured, touching the wormhole with a finger, then looking at it. "Huh."  
  
As Spock walked over, Jim took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and stepped into the shimmering pool of light.  
  
As he emerged on the other side, he was met by darkness, save for the blue light the Stargate gave off.  
  
"Dungeons," Trouble said from where he stood next to him.  
  
"Indeed," Spock said emerging behind them.  
  
Jim almost jumped as another figure stepped out of the wormhole.  
  
"Rexley!" Trouble said. "What are you—"  
  
"I am not leaving you with these criminals," Rexley said, pulling Trouble into his arms. "Are you all right, Jeremy?" he said softly, touching his face.  
  
"Um," Trouble said, clearly taken aback. "It's— it was kinda scary," he lied shamelessly, pressing his body against Rexley's and hugging him. He winked at Jim over Rexley's shoulder; Jim rolled his eyes.  
  
"What are you looking for?" Jim asked Spock, who was examining their surroundings.  
  
"We need to find a source of light before the wormhole closes."  
  
Jim glanced back to the Regelen. "Hey, can't Rexley take Trouble and escape back through the wormhole?"  
  
"Negative. A Stargate creates a one-way wormhole. To go back to Regelence, he will have to close this wormhole and dial Regelence from here, which is very difficult to accomplish without the dialing device - not to mention the darkness, and the possibility that the ZPM connected to this Stargate is drained."  
  
"Ah." Jim strained his eyes, trying to see anything, but, a few meters away from the Stargate, it was already completely dark. He could only see that these dungeons were marginally better than the ones they'd left earlier that night — they were drier, for one thing — but that was about it.  
  
"There is nothing of use," Spock said with resigned certainty. "We will have to find a way out of the dungeons without any light."  
  
"Great," Jim sighed. "Trouble, Rexley, let's go. We need to find the way out. Trouble, to me."  
  
Trouble stopped playing a damsel in distress and pulled away from Rexley — or tried to. "No," the prince said in a tone that made it clear that arguing would be hopeless. "He will stay with me, Kirk."  
  
"Fine," Jim said with an eye roll. "Whatever. But if you don't want him to stumble and break his neck, you'll let him take my hand. We'll go one after another: Spock in front, because his eyesight is superior to ours, then me, then Trouble, and you Rexley last. Understood?"  
  
A pause. Then, a reluctant, "Yes."  
  
Jim sighed. Sure, Rexley and he would never be best friends, but he was getting sick of the guy's animosity. Jealousy was a bitch, especially when one had constant blue balls, but this was ridiculous.  
  
Giving Spock the gun, Jim took his wrist and grabbed Trouble's with his other hand. Trouble took Rexley's. As if on cue, the wormhole shut down.  
  
"Lead on," Jim said to Spock, trying hard not to laugh. They were lined up like ducks.  
  
Spock started walking tentatively. Jim really hoped Spock knew what he was doing, because he couldn't see a thing. The only thing that was clear to him was that they weren't exactly in dungeons – more like a complex network of underground caves and tunnels.  
  
"Are you certain that you know where you are leading us, Mr. Gray— Spock?" Rexley said about twenty minutes or so of walking in silence.  
  
Although Jim was beginning to wonder the same thing, he said, "Of course he does. He's a Vulcan, which means he's pretty much better in everything than we humans."  
  
"It is true," Spock said.  
  
Trouble chuckled. "Very humble. Hey, can I touch your ears now?"  
  
"No," said Jim and Rexley at once.  
  
"I asked  _Spock_ , not either of you," Trouble said in a flirty tone. "Ow – Jim, if you squeeze my hand harder, you'll break it!"  
  
"My answer is also a 'no,' Jeremy," Spock said. "Vulcan ears are very sensitive to the touch. Allowing someone to touch them is…very personal."  
  
Trouble giggled. "You mean they're erogenous zones?"  
  
"Jeremy," Rexley grated out.  
  
"What? I'm just curious," Trouble said with laughter in his voice.  
  
"I find your behavior bizarre," Rexley said. "We're being held hostage on an alien planet by two suspicious individuals, one of whom isn't even human. There is nothing humorous about the situation."  
  
"Um," Trouble said. "They... They didn't force me to do anything."  
  
Jim winced.  
  
"Excuse me?" Rexley said.  
  
"I'm helping them willingly."  
  
There was an icy silence, broken only by the sound of their footsteps.  
  
Poor kid. Jim didn't want to be in his place right now.  
  
"You helped the spies to escape out of your own free will," Rexley said with no inflection whatsoever.  
  
Trouble squeezed Jim's hand. "They aren't spies, okay? They're the good guys."  
  
Rexley sighed. "How can you be so certain of that, Jeremy? You have known them only for a few days."  
  
"I'm a good character judge. I can smell bullshit a mile away."  
  
"You can't know for sure."  
  
"No, I can't, but I surely know more than you. You weren't even home at the time! If you weren't at your  _boxing club_  the entire day, I would give more credit to your opinion." Trouble chuckled, bitterly. "Boxing club, my ass. Like I don't know you were at that fancy brothel on Duxon Street."  
  
Jim grimaced at the badly concealed hurt in Trouble's voice.  
  
"Although it is none of your concern how I spend my time, I  _was_ at my boxing club."  
  
"Of course it's none of my concern — except for the teensy little fact that we're engaged. How could I possibly forget about it?"  
  
"Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, Jeremy," Rexley said quietly. "And I do remember that we're betrothed."  
  
"Really? You hide it awfully well. Usually you're so busy flirting with Lord Eden and shagging whores. Dust, if you don't want to be engaged to me, fine — just free me and let me find someone else, all right?"  
  
"No."  
  
"No?" Trouble said, outraged. "Why not? And don't you dare start on the whole duty and obligations crap,  _Your Royal Highness_ , because I swear to god, I'll break your perfect nose!"  
  
"Jeremy, it isn't something I want to discuss in the presence of strangers," Rexley said tersely.  
  
Trouble snorted. "Right. You never want to discuss it."  
  
Silence followed his words.  
  
Spock broke it, "We will have to stop for the night, because there is no telling that we are walking in the right direction. I am afraid we are… lost. I have not expected that the network will be so complicated."  
  
Jim swore under his breath. "How do you know it'll be better during the day? Hell, how do you know that it's night?"  
  
"It is night."  
  
Jim huffed in exasperation when no further explanations were offered.  
  
Spock stopped, forcing them all come to a halt, too. "This cave seems to be sufficient for us to wait out the night."  
  
"It's cold here," Trouble complained. "We should've stayed in the cave with the Stargate; at least it was warmer there."  
  
Jim licked his lips, feeling his heartbeat quicken. Of course, Spock wouldn't suggest it again—  
  
"If necessary, you will have to share the body heat," Spock said.  
  
"'You' as in Jim, Rexley, and me?" Trouble said.  
  
"Negative. 'You' as in the prince and you. I shall take care of the Captain."  
  
Jim's gut did a little flip-flop.  _What the fuck is he doing?_ he thought, trying to ignore the part of him that was very eager to find out exactly  _how_  Spock was going to take care of him.  
  
"I have no desire to share body heat," Rexley said and Jim heard him walk away to the far side of the cave.  
  
"Arse," Trouble muttered; Jim could  _hear_ him sulking. "Never mind that he's supposedly here to protect me."  
  
"I was under the false impression that you needed protection," Rexley said icily. "But we ended up in this predicament only because of you."  
  
"I can't believe I used to like you," Trouble snapped, stomping toward the opposite from Rexley’s corner. "Clearly there was something wrong with my head. You're an arsehole and a bore!"  
  
Spock silently tugged Jim down to the ground with him, just a few feet away from the cave's exit. Jim put the rucksack beside him.  
  
They sat with their back against the cold wall and their shoulders touching. The ground, thankfully, was dry.  
  
Seconds ticked by. Jim closed his eyes, trying to ignore the warmth radiating from Spock.  
  
"Are you sufficiently comfortable to get some rest?" Spock murmured after a few minutes.  
  
"You've got to be kidding me. I can't sleep in sitting position unless I'm dead on my feet, and I'm not that tired yet."  
  
Spock's hand touched slightly the back of his hand, and Jim's eyes snapped open. "You appear to be cold."  
  
Jim's heart began beating faster. "I'll survive," he managed, his mind reeling. He wondered why Spock wasn't taking his hand away, as he should. He wondered why  _he_ wasn't pulling his hand away. He wondered what the fuck they were doing.  
  
He wondered if Spock would fuck him again.  
  
Closing his eyes, Jim let himself fantasize. Sure, Rexley and Trouble couldn't be more than six or seven meters away, but it was completely dark and they could be quiet — he would be quiet. He was still pretty loose after last night’s sex; he wouldn't even need much prep. Spock could just pull out his dick and go straight to fucking. Spock's cock was so smooth, and lubed up, and warm, and—  
  
"Jim," Spock said, sounding really weird.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Cease  _thinking_."  
  
Jim flushed and resisted the urge to bang his head against the wall. He'd completely forgotten that Spock was a touch-telepath. And what was he thinking? Spock was off limits. No more sex. No more kisses.  
  
God, it was supposed to be a one-time thing, no strings attached, but it was already fucking with his mind. Jim had no business thinking of Spock's warm, warm skin, or hard body, or how it felt when Spock thrust into him, hard, big, _perfect_ —  
  
Spock inhaled sharply and, leaning in, kissed him, his mouth hot and insistent. Swallowing back a moan, Jim found himself kissing back, hands pulling Spock tighter, closer against him, cock going from soft to hard in a matter of seconds. Spock shoved his thigh between Jim's legs and  _ground_. Jim gasped. Spock broke the kiss and clasped his hand over Jim's mouth.  
  
"Quiet," he whispered, kissing frantically Jim's ear, then cheek, trailing kisses down his neck.  
  
_Quiet? Are you kidding me?_  Jim wanted to say but couldn't. Instead, he rutted mindlessly against Spock's hard thigh, swallowing back moans and groans that threatened to leave his mouth and kissing Spock's palm. Their cocks were rubbing occasionally against each other, and it was getting painful because of the clothes, but fuck if Jim could stop. Goddammit, this was inappropriate on so many levels — fraternization thing aside, they were just a few meters away from a Regelence prince and a teenager, and he was supposed to have that thing called self-control — but for the life of him, Jim couldn't make himself stop grinding against Spock and trying to pull him closer. Hell, he wasn't sure he would say 'no' if Spock actually wanted to fuck him right here, and how crazy was that? It was one thing to fantasize about it, but actually fuckingwith other people in the same room was completely another, even if those people couldn't see them.  
  
"Jim?" Trouble called, and Jim cursed on the inside. Spock took his hand away from Jim's mouth.  
  
"What?" Jim managed, hoping that his voice didn't betray that he was dry humping his First Officer as he spoke. Spock didn't even stop kissing and sucking at his neck.  
  
"Ah, nothing. I just thought I heard something. Good night."  
  
"Night," Jim croaked out. "You bastard," he whispered, biting Spock's earlobe. Spock shivered and caught his mouth again in a long, wet kiss that nearly made Jim groan aloud.  
  
"I wish to have you," Spock whispered against his mouth, his hands stroking Jim's neck. "Now."  
  
"You're crazy," Jim whispered back, trying to pull him closer, tighter, just more.  
  
"You are to blame," Spock breathed, tugging the breeches down Jim's hips, and were his fingers  _shaking_?  
  
"Shit, not here." Jim tore himself away, and, taking Spock's hand, pulled him to his feet. His mind was foggy, his knees were fucking  _trembling_ , his whole body was tingling, and his cock was painfully hard. Jim closed his eyes, trying to control his breathing. It was a wonder he had enough of self-control left not to let Spock fuck him right here.  
  
"Where are you going?" Rexley said suspiciously. It had been probably too much to hope that the Regelen wouldn't notice them slipping away.  
  
Jim contemplated lying, but what the hell, right now he had no patience, and his brain refused to work. "To fuck," he said shortly, tugging Spock toward where he thought was the exit.  
  
Trouble and Rexley made choked sounds.  
  
"Aren't they supposed to be brothers?" was the last thing Jim heard before they stumbled into the nearby cave and latched onto each other's mouths.  
  
What happened after that was a blur of kisses, nibbles, warm hands, moans, and tingly feelings shooting through every nerve ending, wracking his body in pleasure.  
  
Some time later, Jim found himself leaning against the wall and gasping for breath as Spock started gently pushing into him from behind.  
  
"C'mon," he managed, panting like he'd run a mile. His cock was already dripping precum. "Just do it. Fuck like you mean it."  
  
"You are still sore from our previous copulation," Spock gritted out, his body tense like hell, fingers digging into Jim's hips. But then he started moving in short, jerky thrusts, as if he couldn't quite help himself.  
  
"Don't care," Jim gasped out, his mind getting foggier with every new thrust. "God — love getting fucked."  
  
Spock went still. "Are you saying that it does not matter to you who you are with?"  
  
Oh, Spock was  _pissed_.  
  
"Yup," Jim lied, to piss him off even more.  
  
Growling, Spock set up a punishing rhythm. And fuck, did it hurt — Vulcan strength was no joke — but every thrust brought a sharp intense pleasure along with pain. He was so full, so close—  
  
Jim almost sobbed out when Spock  _stopped_ and said very, very evenly, "Who do you belong to, Jim?"  
  
Jim's eyes widened and he felt panic constrict his throat. What the fuck? What was Spock doing? He wasn't supposed to ask those kinds of questions.  
  
When Jim said nothing, Spock gave a brutal thrust against his prostate, making Jim groan. "Answer the question."  
  
"Don't," Jim croaked out, his head spinning.  _I don't belong to anyone,_  he wanted to say.  _I'm not a thing,_  he wanted to say. But he knew that it would be a lie.  
  
The truth was, Spock had so much power over his mood, over his happiness or the lack thereof, that it wouldn't be too much of a stretch to say that yes, he, James T. Kirk belonged to Spock. He wanted him. He needed him. He just couldn't — wouldn't — admit it aloud. Saying that aloud would make it real and he wouldn't be able to pretend that Spock was just his XO and nothing more.  
  
"Say it," Spock murmured, pounding mercilessly against his prostate. He found Jim's hand and squeezed. "You are _mine_ , Jim." His voice cracked.  
  
"Fuck you," Jim managed, squeezing Spock's hand back. " _You're_ mine."  
  
Spock made a throaty sound and bit his shoulder so hard that it sent Jim over the edge. He came with a long groan, shuddering from the force of his orgasm.  
  
Spock thrust into him a few more times and went still against him.  
  
They breathed together for a while before Spock slipped out. Straightened up, Jim frantically tried to come up with something to say, but his mind still refused to work properly, too blissed out.  
  
"Where are my breeches?"  
  
Spock picked them from the ground, and, handing them to Jim, started dressing, too.  
  
"Hope Rexley and Trouble didn't escape while we weren't there," he said with a sigh, then froze. "Fuck. The gun! We left it there. And the rucksack with the ZPMs, too!"  
  
"I highly doubt they could find the gun in the darkness even if they were inclined to escape, which is doubtful, since they have nowhere to go. Even if they managed to find the Stargate, they would not be able to dial Regelence manually without help." Spock took Jim's wrist again. "Come."  
  
Jim went.  
  
As they entered the cave, they found Rexley and Trouble arguing quietly, Trouble's voice sounding from Rexley's part of the cave.  
  
"I'm not moving," Trouble was saying stubbornly.  
  
"What's going on?" Jim said, frowning.  
  
"Jeremy appears to be sitting on the prince's abdomen," Spock said.  
  
"I didn't know you were a screamer, Jim," Trouble said cheekily. "Had a good shag?"  
  
His cheeks burning, Jim said, "Shut up. And why are you sitting on Rexley's stomach?"  
  
"The git wanted to find the gun and kill you both while you were shagging," Trouble said, as if it was obvious. "I had to do something."  
  
Jim grimaced as he and Spock sat down again. He was sore as hell. " That's — very thoughtful of you."  
  
"You're welcome."  
  
"Jeremy, you're still sitting on my stomach," Rexley said with a sigh. "Please, get off me."  
  
"Nah. I'm good, thanks. In fact, I think I'll lie down. It's much comfier than lying on the ground."  
  
"Jeremy."  
  
"Rexley."  
  
" _Jeremy_."  
  
"Look, I know you can't stand me — and the feeling is completely mutual — but don't be an idiot. It's much comfier and warmer this way, isn't it?"  
  
A pause. Then, "Yes."  
  
"So relax, okay? If I'm so disgusting, you can imagine that I'm the perfect Lord Eden."  
  
"It's impossible," Rexley said dryly.  
  
"Then just suck it up and deal with it, because I'm not going to sleep on the ground. I'm cold, and there are…  _things_ on the ground."  
  
"You're scared," Rexley said, with something like wonder in his voice. "You're scared of  _bugs_."  
  
"Don't be stupid," Trouble snapped. "I'm not scared of anything. I'm just…"  
  
"Very well — you can sleep on me, but I have one condition."  
  
"What condition?"  
  
"No moving, fidgeting, or squirming."  
  
"That's three conditions, not one."  
  
"Jeremy."  
  
Trouble sighed. "Fine. No moving, got it."  
  
Leaning his head back against the wall, Jim closed his eyes and tried not to think, pretending that it was completely normal and meant nothing that his First Officer was rubbing their fingers together in an idle rhythm.  
  
He was good at pretending.

 

**~*~**

 

 _Planet Earth: Devonshire, England_  
  
  
Spock had been right. A few hours later, the tunnels became considerably lighter, thanks to the faint daylight filtering through small cracks and holes above their heads. It made it much easier to find the way out of the dungeons, and a short while later, Spock was pushing a heavy door open.  
  
They found themselves in a huge library.  
  
"Oh," Trouble uttered, staring at the fake bookcase that led to the dungeons. "It's a hidden door!"  
  
"Yeah, neat," Jim said as Rexley closed the door behind them, making it look like an inconspicuous bookcase among hundreds others.  
  
"But where are we?" Trouble said, looking around.  
  
Jim looked at Spock, but Spock didn't provide the answer, as he'd expected. Instead, Spock was…just staring at him, his eyes inscrutable.  
  
Licking his lips, Jim averted his gaze to the Regelen.  
  
Rexley had picked up the big leather book from the oak desk. "I know where we are," he said, sounding slightly breathless. "This is Pruluce, the main estate of Dukes of Pruluce. That was a house of Jordan Townsend, Regelence's founder. We are in Devonshire, England. We really are on Earth."  
  
"I told you they weren't spies," Trouble said, walking over to Rexley. "What is this?"  
  
"This is a genealogy book of the Townsends," Rexley replied, turning the pages.  
  
"Your family," Trouble supplied.  
  
"Yes. It is..."  
  
"What?" Jim said when Rexley trailed off.  
  
"The book states that Jordan Townsend went missing in 1814, was officially declared dead in 1837 and the title of the Duke of Pruluce died with him," Rexley said quietly. "They were not even remote male relatives to inherit the duchy and all property was sealed and declared belonging to Britain. This house is a public museum now, since this is one of the best well-preserved historical buildings."  
  
Jim frowned. "If everything belonging to the Townsends went to the British government, then why the Stargate is still under the public museum? They could easily move it after the Duke was declared dead."  
  
"I think I know why," Rexley said, looking back at the bookcase. "Mr. Kirk, try to open the secret door."  
  
Raising his eyebrows, Jim walked to the bookcase and pulled at it. Nothing. Frowning, he took all the books out, but again, nothing happened. It looked like an ordinary bookcase. There was a small rectangular stone on one of the shelves, but it turned out to be decorative, not a triggering mechanism, as Jim had hoped.  
  
"What the fuck," he said, confused, and looked at other bookcases. Maybe it was just the wrong bookcase?  
  
"That's what I thought," Rexley said, walking over. He smiled unexpectedly, eyeing the bookcase. "Jordan Townsend left a journal after himself. When I was a child, Father used to read it to me before sleep. In his journal, Jordan wrote that he had used one of the Ancient devices that he had found in Giza as a security measure to prevent unauthorized access into the dungeons. This device"—Rexley nodded at the rectangular stone—"was used by Ancients as a pressurizing device. For example, if you put it on the lid of a box, the device would seal the lid so tightly that you'd never be able to open the box no matter how much strength you apply. The key is to touch the device—"  
  
"But I touched it," Jim interrupted.  
  
"—and think it 'off.' You don't have the Ancient gene," Rexley said, then touched the stone. The stone lit up bright blue and Rexley easily pulled the bookcase up, then open. "And neither do most people. I suppose that's why the Stargate is still there," Rexley finished, closing the door again.  
  
"Indeed," Spock said. "And considering that twenty-three years passed before they could declare the Duke officially dead, it is likely that the individuals at the War Office who knew of the Stargate project either retired or died by that time."  
  
"That's very interesting and all,” Jim drawled, “but we've got to get out of here. It's still very early in the morning, so we have a good chance of leaving the museum before it opens."  
  
"Jim is correct," Spock said, heading toward the exit. "Come."  
  
They followed him out of the library into a richly decorated corridor. Everything was quiet, which was hardly surprising — the huge ancient clock in the hall showed that it was barely six in the morning.  
  
"Museum workers are probably sleeping at the servants' wing," Rexley said quietly, nodding toward the unremarkable door to their left.  
  
Spock nodded, and for a moment Jim was taken aback by how alike they were. It wasn't even that they both were dark-haired, tall and handsome. (Spock was much hotter, in Jim's unbiased opinion.) There was just a certain something in their bearing, something in the way they held themselves, in the way they moved.  
  
They almost reached the front door when a low growl suddenly filled the air.  
  
Jim froze.  
  
Fuck. Guard dogs. Of course the museum would have one.  
  
They turned toward the sound and—  
  
Okay.  
  
Jim supposed it  _was_ a guard dog.  
  
"Oh my god, what is it?" Trouble said with huge eyes.  
  
"This is a domesticated carnivorous mammal,  _Canis familiaris_ , raised in a wide variety of breeds. This particular creature appears to be a juvenile German Shepherd Dog, the breed that is also known as Alsatian—"  
  
"This is a dog," Jim cut Spock off, rolling his eyes. "A puppy, to be precise."  
  
The puppy growled menacingly, making Jim's eyebrows fly up. For such a small cute thing, it could sure growl.  
  
"Oh my god," Trouble said, and then knelt down before the growling fluffy puppy.  
  
"Jeremy, step away from this creature," Rexley said, looking alarmed.  
  
The puppy bared its teeth at Trouble and began to issue a low growl as it prepared itself to attack.  
  
"Aw, aren't you the cutest little thing," Trouble cooed with a smile and picked up the pup. The puppy let out a confused wail as Trouble started petting it.  
  
"Jeremy," Rexley said warningly, stepping closer. "The creature might be dangerous or—"  
  
The 'creature' licked Trouble's nose, wagging its tale.  
  
Jim couldn't help but smile. "Yep, it's cute, but put the 'creature' down, kid. We need to go."  
  
"No."  
  
Rexley groaned quietly.  
  
"Pardon?" Jim said.  
  
"I'm taking him with me," Trouble announced, beaming.  
  
Jim stared at him. "You can't just 'take' the puppy with you, kiddo. It belongs to the museum."  
  
Trouble lifted his chin. "So? This museum was the house of Rexley's great-great-great granddad – therefore, everything here belongs to Rexley. As Rexley's betrothed, I have the full right to take anything I want from here."  
  
"An interesting chain of logic," Spock commented dryly.  
  
Jim let out a breath through his teeth. "Trouble, you can't just steal a puppy from the museum. I'm sure it belongs to someone.  _Generally_ , puppies have owners who would mind your stealing their pet."  
  
Trouble pressed his cheek to the puppy and grinned. "So? Don't tell me you share Nate's old-fashioned opinion that stealing is bad?"  
  
Jim pinched the bridge of his noise, then looked at Spock and Rexley for help. Both of them suddenly seemed to be very interested in pictures on the wall.  
  
Jim scowled.  _Cowards_.

 

  
~*~

 

 

The problem with ending up in England straight from another galaxy was that their clothes were more appropriate for an England of five centuries ago. They looked sort of ridiculous, and the funny thing was, the most normal-looking of them was Rexley in his simple white pajama shirt and sweatpants.  
  
"People are staring," Jim said as they walked under the Devonshire sky, past some market stalls.  
  
"They're staring because they've never seen so many hot men together," Trouble said with a smirk, petting the stolen puppy.  
  
Jim chuckled, glancing at their dirty clothes. "More likely they've never seen so many filthy men together."  
  
"We need to contact Starfleet," Spock said.  
  
"You think I haven't thought about it? We're in a foreign country; we don't have communicators on us, and no credits or documents. Any ideas?"  
  
"Yes, actually."  
  
Jim narrowed his eyes. "Really?"  
  
Spock looked at him, his eyes glimmering with amusement. "We do not need identification documents or credits when we have you."  
  
Jim glowered at him — or at least attempted to. Ever since they left the dungeons, every time their eyes met, it felt as though he was being tugged forward, helpless in the grip of whatever had pulled them together, leaving him breathless and confused.  
  
Wide-eyed, Trouble stared at Spock. "You're suggesting Jim sell his body for money?!"  
  
Jim laughed. "What? No!"  
  
"Then what?"  
  
Rolling his eyes, Jim heaved a sigh. "You see, I'm a Federation ‘golden boy.' Everyone knows my face, so it shouldn't be much problem to convince someone to let us use their communicator or even give us money. I hate using my hero status, but hell, I'd suck it up and do it — if there wasn't a little problem with that plan.” He turned to his First. “Spock, if I do it, the whole story will end up in newspapers, and we don't need that kind of publicity right now.  _What_ are we doing in England when the  _Enterprise_ is supposed to be thousands light years away from Earth?"  
  
Spock thought for a moment before nodding. "You are correct. We will leave it as a last resort."  
  
"Hmm, so we need money, huh?" Trouble said with a glimmer in his eyes.  
  
Jim eyed him suspiciously. "What—" he began when Trouble dumped the puppy in Rexley's arms.  
  
"Stay here. I'll be back in a few," Trouble said with a wink and disappeared in the market crowd before they could say anything or stop him.  
  
"He isn't going to…" Jim said weakly, looking at Rexley.  
  
Rexley stared in the direction Trouble disappeared. "I'll go after him," he said, and dumping the puppy in Spock's arms, walked away in the same direction.  
  
The puppy barked. Spock looked down at it and said, "Fascinating," then started tentatively petting it.  
  
Jim watched Spock's long fingers pet the pup.  
  
Spock looked up at him. "You look hungry."  
  
_You have no idea._  
  
Rubbing the back of his neck, Jim averted his gaze. "Yeah. Starving. Haven't eaten anything since yesterday morning."  
  
Jim was relieved to see Rexley pulling Trouble back from the market with a firm hold on his arm. Thank God. They didn't need money at the risk of Trouble being caught and arrested.  
  
"I’ll spank you if you  _dare_ to disappear like that again," Rexley was saying, glowering at Trouble.  
  
Trouble's eyes widened. "Really?"  
  
Rexley's cheekbones tinged with red. "You are impossible."  
  
"He's right, you know," Jim said in his hardest don't-fuck-with-me tone as Spock handed the puppy to Trouble. "Don't do it again, Jeremy. If you get lost, we have no way to find you. And what the hell were you thinking, anyway? It's a good thing Rexley found you before you tried to snatch someone's purse and got caught!"  
  
Trouble had the nerve to look offended. "I'll have you know that I've never gotten caught, even when I was a toddler! And what do you mean, 'tried'?" He lifted his shirt and retrieved a fat purse that was tucked under his belt.  
  
Then another.  
  
And another.  
  
Spock looked vaguely impressed. Rexley looked like he was really tempted to follow through on his threat to spank Trouble.  
  
Jim pinched the bridge of his nose. "If I find grey in my hair, I'll know who to blame."  
  
Trouble just gave them a confused look.

 

 

  
~*~

 

 

Thanks to Trouble's… efforts, they were able to buy a communicator, clothes for all of them, and rent a suite in a hotel. Spock had wanted to call the Headquarters immediately, but Jim refused. Knowing those assholes at Starfleet Headquarters, they wouldn't let them get any rest before calling them for an hours-long briefing. Been there, done that.  
  
"I'm not calling anyone until I get something in my stomach and some decent sleep," Jim had declared, and that was the end of the discussion.  
  
Yawning, Jim flopped down on the soft, sweet bed.  
  
"Starving," Trouble said, stretching beside him. His puppy jumped onto the bed and settled between them.  
  
"Uh-huh. Spock should come back soon with something for us to eat," Jim murmured. "Maybe a pizza or two."  
  
The puppy moved closer to Trouble, clearly demanding to be petted. Trouble obliged.  
  
"What will you call him?" Jim said.  
  
"Puppy."  
  
Jim blinked. "Trouble, you can't call him Puppy."  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"Because— because it's just not done! It's the same thing as calling a boy 'Boy.' And he won't stay a puppy forever."  
  
Trouble's eyebrows furrowed. "He won't?" He grinned, clearly delighted. "You mean he'll  _grow_?"  
  
Rexley walked over to the bed and looked down at the pup. "Don't tell me that this ill-mannered creature is going to become bigger."  
  
Jim smirked. "Yup. And German Shepherds can be pretty dangerous if not trained properly."  
  
Rexley sighed.  
  
"Quit being such a drama queen," Trouble said, rolling on his back and looking at Rexley through his eyelashes. "And don't be so mean to Puppy. He isn't a 'creature.'"  
  
"No?" Rexley said, his amber eyes darkening as he stared at him.  
  
Jim shifted his gaze to Trouble, and okay, he could see the appeal. Jeremy was wearing tight jeans and an equally tight black A-shirt, leaving his lean, well-muscled arms and shoulders completely bare. Jim supposed he looked pretty delicious — Rexley certainly seemed to think so.  
  
Just to be a jerk, Jim smirked and patted — stroked — the kid's bare arm. "Don't worry, I'll—"  
  
"Get your hands off him."  
  
Jim met Rexley's eyes and smirked again. "Why?"  
  
Looking at Rexley's tense face, Trouble sighed heavily and jumped off the bed. "Okay, enough is enough." He grabbed Rexley's arm and dragged him to the other bedroom. "We're gonna have a nice talk, because I'm sick as hell of your weird behavior."  
  
Trouble shut the door behind them.  
  
Jim looked at Puppy, then at the door. Then back at Puppy.  
  
"Eavesdropping is kinda bad," he said.  
  
Puppy wagged his tail and barked.  
  
"Fine, if you insist."  
  
Jim got out of the bed, and tiptoeing to the door, pressed his ear to it.  
  
"God, do you have a personality disorder or something?" Trouble was saying, his voice a bit muffled. "Make up your mind, okay? You either want me or don't; there's no middle. If you don't like me, why can't you quit acting like a possessive caveman?"  
  
"It's — complicated," Rexley said briskly.  
  
"Oh for fuck's sake, I'm so sick of that. I don't understand you at all! Sometimes you act like you want me, other times you act like you can't stand to even look at me. You act like an arsehole, then ignore me for a year and flirt with your  _perfect_ Lord Eden, then kiss me, then act like an arsehole again. What the fuck, Rexley? If you want Lord Eden, then go ahead, you'd make such a lovely,  _perfect_ couple—"  
  
"I don't want Eden," Rexley said with a sigh. "I don't want perfection. And I have never told you that I do not want you as my consort."  
  
A silence followed his words. Jim strained his ears, but couldn't hear anything.  
  
"I don't understand," Trouble said, sounding uncharacteristically unsure.  
  
"Jeremy, I… I’m perfectly amenable to our marriage."  
  
"Amenable," Trouble repeated, then chuckled. "I know that you're 'amenable.' I heard your conversation with Cony; I know that you don't mind marrying me. It's your duty, and you're such a dutiful son."  
  
"You are wrong."  
  
"Please. I heard it with my own ears, Rexley."  
  
Rexley heaved a sigh. "I must admit that, at first, I really saw our betrothal as nothing but my duty. When we first met, you were just fifteen, and I thought you an interesting, unusual… kid." His voice softened and took on a thoughtful note. "You made me smile, and laugh. I liked you well enough and saw no reason to object to our betrothal, and fully intended to marry you when you got older."  
  
"And? What changed?"  
  
There was a palpable self-depreciation in his voice as Rexley said quietly, "I caught myself constantly watching you, seeking you out, wanting your company and — lusting after you. You were a kid — you  _are_ still a kid, for heaven's sake."  
  
Smiling smugly, Jim pushed the door slightly open, wanting to see Trouble's reaction.  
  
It didn't disappoint. His eyes huge, Trouble was staring at Rexley with a gob-smacked expression on his face.  
  
"You— You—" he said finally. "So Jim was right — you  _want_ me."  
  
Rexley's lips twisted. "Want you? That would be a gross understatement."  
  
Trouble stared at him some more before a small smile appeared on his face. Then he grinned  and stepped closer to Rexley.  
  
Eyeing him warily, Rexley swallowed visibly and stepped back. "No, Jeremy — please."  
  
Trouble stepped closer.  
  
"Don't do that," Rexley said hoarsely, looking at him like a drowning man reaching for a lifeline.  
  
"C'mon," Trouble said against his mouth, looping his arms around Rexley's neck. "Stop being stupid, okay? I'm above the age of consent. You're not a pervert or something. Kiss me.  _C'mon_."  
  
With a defeated groan, Rexley pulled him closer and kissed him greedily. Trouble whimpered and practically climbed onto him, wrapping his arms and legs around his waist. They both were making soft sounds and groping each other, making Jim painfully uncomfortable.  
  
When Rexley's hand slid under the waistband of Trouble's jeans to cup one cheek, Jim frowned and opened the door wider. "Hey, keep it PG, guys."  
  
Trouble tore his mouth away with a pitiful sound, breathing hard, his eyes glazed. "No offence, but I really want you to die right now, Jim."  
  
Jim chuckled. "Yeah, I bet. No sex until you're at least seventeen, kiddo."  
  
Trouble glared at him. "Says who?" he said and then his eyes closed as Rexley started pressing kisses against his neck.  
  
Jim smirked. "Says me."  
  
"He's right," Rexley said, kissing Trouble again. "I won't—" another kiss “—we can't. God,  _Jeremy_." Rexley kissed him hard again, as if he couldn't help himself.  
  
Finally, they stopped, their foreheads pressed against each other. "I'm going to hell for that," Rexley said hoarsely, his fingers stroking Trouble's hair and neck. "But I can't, not anymore. I missed you, brat."  
  
Trouble smiled — not a flirty empty smile he'd given his admirers, but a real, sunny one. "I would've missed me, too," he said, winking at Rexley.  
  
Rexley laughed, his whole body shaking, and squeezed his arms around Trouble tightly. He whispered something into Trouble's ear, making the kid blush and stare at Rexley in wonder.  
  
Jim started feeling really uncomfortable and wished he was anywhere but here.  
  
Trouble gave Rexley a sly smile. "Hey, does it mean we can marry soon? I'm kinda sick of using butt-plugs and dildos."  
  
Rexley's eyes bugged out almost comically. Jim started laughing, so hard that he didn't even hear Spock enter the suite. When Spock other arm sneaked around Jim's waist, Jim was still shaking with laughter, unable even to hear Rexley's reply.  
  
He almost missed Spock's quick kiss to the back of his neck. Almost.  
  
His laughter died down immediately.  
  
One-time thing. It was supposed to be a one-time thing. He knew it, Spock knew it, but why were they still acting like there was something between them? Why wasn't he pulling away from Spock and why Spock's arm was still around him? They were practically embracing, in front of other people.  
  
If Starfleet found out about the whole thing, they were fucked. In the best-case and most probable scenario, Spock or he would be transferred to another ship. In the worst-case scenario, they would be demoted in rank before the transfer. Neither of those scenarios was acceptable, because Jim  _wasn't_ losing his ship again if he could help it, wasn't losing his captaincy, and he most definitely wasn't losing Spock. They had to stop this — break off this  _whatever_.  
  
Jim pulled away from Spock, refusing to meet his eyes, and cleared his throat "Okay. How about that pizza?"

 

~*~

  
  
After they ate and got some rest, Jim called Pike's personal number. He grinned when he saw the Admiral's eyes go wide. "Jim?!"  
  
"Sir. It's good to see you. Spock says hi. He's here with me."  
  
Pike looked like he'd been hit with a truck. "But — We thought you all were dead after we lost the  _Enterprise's_ signal weeks ago. What happened? Where are you?"  
  
Jim smiled. "We're in Devonshire, England, and we could use a lift, sir."  
  
"Devonshire?" Pike said, blinking rapidly. "How the hell did you end up in  _England_?"  
  
Jim laughed out loud. "It's a long story, sir. Now, about that lift…"

 

~*~

 

  
_Planet Earth: San Francisco_  
  
  
Their lift came in the form of the  _USS Excalibur_. They were beamed up from Devonshire, then beamed down in Starfleet Headquarters in San-Francisco. Jim and Spock were called to report to the Admiralty, while Rexley and Trouble were given accommodations in the same building.  
  
After two excruciatingly long hours of answering admirals' questions, Jim started getting a bad feeling about the whole thing. Admiral Komack and Admiral Barnett were practically salivating over the prospect of getting an access to Regelence's Ancient technology, and Jim got the impression that they didn't particularly care whether Regelen agreed to give them the access or not. Their main point was that Regelence should be considered Earth's colony and therefore was under Starfleet's protection, which meant that Starfleet should have free access to its technology. Pike and Admiral Archer disagreed with them, but Jim could see that other Admirals were halfway to being persuaded.  
  
That was bad news.  
  
Jim exchanged a look with Spock, and saw a grim expression in his eyes. There wasn't much they could do, though. Jim could only hope that Archer and Pike would hold their ground against Komack and Barnett, but, if he was honest with himself, it was unlikely, considering that Federation was in a cold war with Klingons.  
  
After another hour of debating, Rexley was invited into the conference room, and that was when the most interesting part started.  
  
Although Jim wasn't exactly a fan of Rexley, he had to admit that the guy would make a great king one day. He turned out to be a very clever, cool-headed politician. It was amazing how different he was when Trouble wasn't around; he certainly deserved the nickname of Lord Responsible. Rexley didn't let the Admirals tell him what to do, not budging from his point of view even a bit. He made it clear right away that Regelence wasn't interested in the dubious honor of being Earth's colony.  
  
"We are not an Earth colony," Rexley said, giving the Admirals a cool look. "And I am  _positive_ you will treat us as the independent world we are. We are not interested in unequal relations."  
  
Komack pressed his lips together. "I assure you, we mean no harm, Your Highness. You will see that it's in your own best interests—"  
  
"Let  _me_ decide what is in best interests of my people, Admiral," Rexley said, his voice growing cooler. "I assure you, Regelence is quite capable of defending itself and doesn't need your protection. I am well aware that the prospect of getting an access to the Ancient technology is very tempting for those who are greedy for power. " Komack's face started turning an alarming shade of red, and Rexley added with a humorless smile, "And I'm sure that none of you are that sort of people, gentlemen."  
  
Komack and Barnett looked like they’d swallowed lemons. Jim had to bite the inside of his cheek to prevent himself from laughing out loud.  
  
In the meantime, Rexley continued, "We are not interested in opening a free access to Regelence through the Stargate, because our culture would be at risk of being eroded by others. You should understand that even with the artificial reproduction technology, our population is relatively small—less than one million people. Our society is secluded, and we like it that way."  
  
Komack opened his mouth, but Rexley gave him a hard stare, effectively shutting him up. "However, if we are to become  _allies_ with Federation, technological exchange will be possible. We would not be averse to having a small Starfleet contingent among us as a sign of goodwill and friendship. While we are not exactly on our own in the Triangulum Galaxy — we do have allies — more friends are always welcome, especially now that the IN presents quite a real threat."  
  
"A small Starfleet contingent?" Admiral Barnett repeated. "How small?"  
  
Rexley leaned back in his chair and glanced at Spock and Jim. "I believe there is already a Starfleet ship nearby Regelence. Since you cannot transport your ship back to Milky Way, the ship could join Regelence Fleet as a Federation representative. When the crew needs to visit Earth, they will be welcome to use the Stargate. This way, Captain Kirk and his crew will not have to abandon their ship in our galaxy."  
  
Jim stared at Rexley before a slow grin split his face into two. He looked at Spock, who nodded slowly.  
                                                                                                   

    

  ~*~

 

Jim left the conference room smiling. Hell, he'd been agonizing over the  _Enterprise's_ predicament for weeks, knowing fully well that there was a huge chance that they would have to leave her behind even if they managed to return home, so now he felt like kissing Rexley, even though he knew that Rexley was looking out for Regelence's interests first and foremost.  
  
"I can't believe it turned so well," Jim said, breaking the silence.  
  
"Indeed. However, something appears to be amiss," Spock said quietly. "Admiral Pike informed me that we should wait for him in his office. He will join us there after the prince signs necessary documents."  
  
Jim frowned, feeling a pang of worry. Somehow, he didn't think Pike just wanted to catch up with his protégés. "Let's go, then."  
  
They walked to Pike's office in silence – the silence that was becoming more charged with every passing second. It was the first time they were completely alone since the dungeons, not counting the few minutes at the market in Devonshire.  
  
_You are mine_. Those words haunted Jim every time he was alone with his thoughts, teasing his mind and heart mercilessly. People said weirdest shit during sex, Jim knew, but he also knew that Spock had meant those words as much as Jim had meant them.  
  
What a mess, god. He had no idea what to do. He knew what he  _wanted_ to do —fuck Spock senseless until he didn't remember anything but Jim's name, over and over. Even now, as they walked down a corridor in Starfleet Headquarters, Jim couldn't stop thinking how amazing it would be to push Spock against the wall and kiss him.  
  
Shit, he'd  _known_ it would be a mistake to try fucking Spock out of his system. Spock was too deep under his skin for that to work.  
  
"Here," Spock said, punching the access code in and opening the door into Pike's office.  
  
Jim walked into the room and settled in a big comfortable chair by Pike's table. Leaning back, he closed his eyes and decided to either take a nap or pretend that he was taking a nap.  
  
Seconds ticked by, then minutes. Spock stayed silent. Jim wondered if Spock was watching him. His skin started prickling.  
  
"I believe we need to talk," Spock said quietly.  
  
Jim let out a fake snore.  
  
"I know you are not asleep."  
  
He snored even louder.  
  
"Jim, cease this immature behavior. We are adults and should behave as such."  
  
"I'm sleeping," Jim said, not opening his eyes. "And, for the record, I don't participate in conversations that begin with 'We need to talk.' They leave a bad taste in my mouth."  
  
"We cannot avoid the subject indefinitely."  
  
"Why not? Besides, I already know how this conversation would go. You would say it was a mistake — two mistakes, actually — and I'd agree with you. We both would agree that it would never happen again, which would be a big fat lie, because it's us and we can't keep a safe distance from each other to save our lives. So let's just skip that talk and go on with our lives until the next time, 'kay?"  
  
Silence.  
  
And then, "No."  
  
Jim's eyes flew open. He almost jumped in his seat finding Spock so close. "No?" he whispered as Spock put a hand next to Jim's head.  
  
"I told you: Vulcans do not engage in meaningless sexual intercourse," Spock said very, very solemnly, looking Jim into the eyes.  
  
Jim's breath caught in his throat. "What— what do you mean?" he said, his heart hammering in his chest. Surely Spock didn't mean what Jim thought he meant.  
  
"I mean," Spock said, pressing a chaste, light kiss on Jim's mouth, "that there is no such thing as 'no strings attached' for a Vulcan."  
  
"But you're half-Human," Jim said, his lips quivering. He would  _not_ pull Spock down into his lap.  
  
"In such matters, I am fully Vulcan, Jim," Spock said, his dark eyes strangely intense. "And you will find that Vulcans are not very good at ‘letting go.’"  
  
Jim shook his head frantically. "Are you crazy? We can't do that. There's Starfleet— the Enterprise — and—"  
  
Spock stroked his cheek with his knuckles. "I am well aware of all the reasons we should not begin a romantic relationship, Jim. Do not bother repeating them."  
  
Jim glared at him. "Then why? It's stupid, Spock, and you’re the least stupid person I know! I thought we were on the same page on that. What changed? Don't tell me that sticking your dick in my ass changed your opinion!"  
  
Spock's lips twitched. "While it was a very pleasurable experience, it hardly—"  
  
"Spock," Jim growled, and Spock's expression turned serious.  
  
"I was against initiating a relationship with you for the same very reasons you stated," he said quietly. "However, watching Rexley and Jeremy made me realize that one cannot escape from oneself. There is nothing logical about it. What is, is, after all. I cannot change how I... feel about you." Spock had said 'feel' like it physically pained him, and Jim felt a hysterical laughter bubble in his throat. How ironic it was that a Vulcan had more courage to talk about emotions than him.

_How do you choose not to feel?_

_I do not know. Right now, I am failing._  
  
Jim wet his lips. "But what about Starfleet— What about the  _Enterprise_? I can't do it, Spock. I can't do it to my crew—"  
  
"I understand—"  
  
"No, you don't," Jim growled, jerking Spock's head down to kiss him hard. When he broke the kiss, they both were breathing unevenly. "I go batshit crazy just from the thought of you being hurt, you fucker." He bit Spock's lip savagely. "I  _might_ sell my crew for your life, don't you get it? Don't you fucking  _get_ it?"  
  
Spock's face darkened. "I understand better than you think, but even if we maintain a strictly professional relationship, it will change nothing. You — or I — would not be less compromised in such a situation."  
  
"Maybe not, but I—"  
  
"There is no 'but,'" Spock said firmly, pressing shallow but urgent kisses to Jim's lips. "You and I… We are a foregone conclusion, Jim."  
  
Something inside him broke at those words, and  _fuck it, screw it_. He was tired, so tired. So what if it was selfish and insane?  
  
"Okay," Jim said, feeling weirdly light-hearted now that the decision was made, as if a huge weight was finally taken off his shoulders.  
  
He grinned as Spock's eyes widened slightly, then Spock was kissing him, and Jim was kissing him back, laughing and tugging him down into his lap. Spock was heavy but felt  _so_ delicious on top of him. Moaning into Spock's mouth, Jim slid his hands under Spock's turtleneck—  
  
Someone cleared their throat.  
  
They jerked apart so quickly that Spock nearly fell onto the floor.  
  
"That's what I wanted to talk about," Pike said, his eyes hard.  
  
Flushing, Jim jumped to his feet. "Sir."  
  
Spock clasped his hands behind his back. "Admiral."  
  
Sighing, Pike limped to his chair behind the desk. "You reckless idiots," he said, taking the seat and leveling them with a stern look. "You're damn lucky everyone else was too distracted by Regelence and Ancient technology to notice the matching hickeys. Dammit, don't you know about dermal regenerators?"  
  
"Shit," Jim said, only now noticing a small hickey by Spock's ear. Judging by the way Spock was staring at his neck, he had one, too.  
  
"Yeah,  _shit_. Considering that, according to your report, you spent last few days together, coming to meet Admiralty with hickeys all over you is the dumbest shit you could pull." Seeing that they were properly chastised, Pike softened slightly. "All right, what's done is done, and at least you will be out of the Admiralty's reach soon. And that's another thing I wanted to talk about." Pike ran a hand over his face and sighed. "You should take all necessary materials to repair the  _Enterprise_ and leave Earth as soon as possible."  
  
Jim's eyebrows furrowed. "Why, sir?"  
  
"It's too dangerous for you to stay here. Even though Prince Rexley manipulated Komack and Barnett into agreeing to his conditions, they want to get their hands onto Ancients' technology too much to give up so easily."  
  
"Pardon me, sir," Spock said, frowning ever so slightly, "but I do not understand the reason for such intense interest."  
  
Pike's expression went grim. "You don't know everything. There are rumours that Klingons are preparing for a war. After Kronos, after what happened to Vulcan, they think we're weak. The Admiralty is worried. We don't have enough ships, and we lost years of technological research along with Vulcan. The truth is, we need something that will give us an advantage against the Klingons. It’s no wonder that Komack and Barnett are drooling over the Ancient technology. I don't agree with them, but I understand how tempting it is. Hell, Ancient technology is so advanced that allows nearly instantaneous transportation between  _galaxies_." Pike shook his head. "I don't have to explain to you how much advantage that alone could give us. And that ZPM thing — to have that kind of energy source... We could improve our ships' shields and..." Pike trailed off, looking thoughtful.  
  
Jim bit his lip. "Where are you going with that, sir?"  
  
Pike met his eyes. "You need to leave as soon as possible, son. I don't trust Komack and the others not to do something stupid like try to force Rexley to give them what they want. I'm worried that they might forget what Federation is about and start operating under the motto that desperate times call for desperate measures."  
  
Jim felt his stomach twist. "Is it that bad, sir?"  
  
Pike nodded grimly. "I'm afraid it is, Jim. After Vulcan’s destruction the Federation became weaker. Our members are starting to doubt Starfleet's ability to protect them, and their doubts aren't unfounded."  
  
"Sir, the prince told me that he would introduce me to Regelence's Science Minister," Spock said. "When we return to Regelence, I will explain to them the seriousness of the situation, and I am quite certain Regelen would agree to some scientific exchange. Perhaps you should tell the Admiralty that Regelen are more likely to help us willingly than if forced."  
  
Pike sighed. "Yes, I'll do that." The computer on the desk made a sound, and Pike looked at the screen. A smile touched his lips. "In the meantime, boys, your new orders are in. From now on, the  _Enterprise_ is officially assigned to the Triangulum Galaxy. You will continue your exploration mission, but if necessary, you will be at the disposition of Regelence Fleet. Between missions, you will be stationed at Regelence. Prince Rexley agreed to an Earth shore leave twice a year for the crew, which is very kind of him, considering that the Stargate travel apparently requires an enormous amount of energy. Of course, you two will have to report to Starfleet more often than that."  
  
Jim groaned. "So basically, we'll see Komack's ugly face more often than we did when the  _Enterprise_ was actually in this galaxy."  
  
Pike looked amused. "Ironically, yes." His eyes glimmered with mirth. "Of course, the Admiralty can't do anything if you accidentally miss one report or two. You see, we won't have free access to the Stargate in Devonshire. One of the conditions Prince Rexley insisted on before signing the treaty was for Britain to return all property of Dukes of Pruluce to their rightful owners — to the royal family of Regelence."  
  
Jim threw his head back and laughed.  
  
"I cannot imagine that pleased Admiral Komack," Spock said dryly.  
  
Pike's lips twitched. "It didn't."

 

~*~

 

  
_Planet Earth: Devonshire, England_  
  
A week later, Jim found himself back in Devonshire, once again wearing a goddamn cravat.  
  
"I still don't understand why we should still wear these clothes," Jim grumbled, grimacing and tugging at his cravat.  
  
"Because it is only prudent to respect the culture of the planet we are going to live on the majority of our off time," Spock replied patiently, walking into the gate room first.  
  
No longer dark and unwelcome, the dungeons now looked completely different. It was the first time Jim had seen them in the light — he hadn't been here two days ago, when Spock sent through the Stargate all necessarily materials for the  _Enterprise_. Now that the last preparations had been made, with the diplomatic and legal problems solved and Rexley the official owner of Pruluce, the four of them were ready to go back to Regelence.  
  
Jim found that he was impatient to go. Earth didn't feel like home anymore. He missed his ship, his crew, and the freedom of being away from Starfleet and its regulations.  
  
And fine, okay — he missed Spock.  
  
They kept away from each other during the few days they lived at Starfleet Headquarters — they weren't crazy or stupid enough to jinx their luck — and then Spock returned with Rexley to Devonshire to arrange the shipment of materials and supplies to Regelence while Jim and Trouble stayed in San Francisco to deal with Starfleet business. They joined Spock and Rexley just a half an hour ago and only managed to get a shower and change into Regelence clothes before they were ushered to the dungeons. Apparently, they were on a tight schedule.  
  
"Is it really necessary for the whole House of Lords to greet us?" Trouble grumbled, leading Puppy by his leash.  
  
"Yes," Rexley replied.  
  
Spock started dialing manually the Regelence address. "Want a hand?" Jim asked, walking over. His hands were itching to touch and he had to curl them into fists.  
  
Glancing at him, Spock said, "No," as the third chevron encoded.  
  
Jim licked his lips. "Want a kiss?"  
  
Spock's hand faltered a bit as he moved the inner ring of the Stargate. His throat bobbed up and down. "Later," he said, not looking at Jim, his voice slightly hoarse. "Cease distracting me."  
  
Jim felt his stomach flutter. "I'm not distracting you, Mr. Spock."  
  
"You are distracting me simply by existing," Spock said evenly.  
  
"I wanna kiss you so bad."  
  
" _Jim_."  
  
Jim grinned, feeling ridiculously warm and young, and turned away to look at Trouble and Rexley.  
  
"Do I look appropriately lordly?" Trouble said, whirling around with a flourish.  
  
A corner of Rexley's mouth quirked before it turned into a full-blown smile. " Clarify."  
  
Trouble smiled, aquamarine eyes glimmering with merry. "Do I look like I have a stick up my arse?"  
  
Rexley stared at him.  
  
"No," he said finally, leaning in and touching Trouble's lips gently once, twice. Trouble tried to deepen the kiss, but Rexley quickly pulled away and started fussing with his own cravat.  
  
Trouble pouted. "Rexley! That wasn't a kiss."  
  
"No? I thought it was," Rexley said lightly, looking at the Stargate. The eighth chevron locked and the wormhole opened. "It is time. Let's go."  
  
Trouble didn't move. Instead, he lifted his chin and crossed his arms over his chest. "I'm not going anywhere until I get a  _proper_ kiss. When we're on Regelence, we'll be constantly chaperoned!"  
  
"That is the point," Jim heard Rexley mutter before he pulled Trouble into his arms and gave him a 'real kiss.'  
  
Jim looked away, giving them some privacy.  
  
"Keep it PG, kids," Jim sing-sung when he heard a groan and the unmistakable rustle of fabric. "A boner wouldn't be a good idea in those breeches."  
  
"I really, really hate you, Jim," Trouble grumbled, tearing his mouth away from Rexley's and glaring at Jim, his lips swollen. "So unfair," he muttered, burying his face in Rexley's shoulder. Rexley's eyes were closed as he took a few deep breaths before stepping back from Jeremy and clasping his trembling hands behind his back.  
  
"As you humans would say," Spock said from behind, brushing his thumb against Jim's wrist, "'I feel for him.'"  
  
Jim smirked and turned around. "Having blue balls sucks, and I'm sorry for the kid, but I can't say I feel for Rexley. Serves him right for treating me like dirt when I was Trouble's chaperone."  
  
Spock raised his eyebrow at him. "That is just petty, Jim."  
  
Jim grinned. "So?" he murmured into Spock's mouth before kissing him hard, because he wanted to and because he fucking  _could_. He felt almost giddy with happiness as Spock arms came up around him. He had his ship, his crew, new friends, a whole new galaxy to explore, and most importantly, he had Spock.  
  
His life was kind of awesome. 

 

 

~*~

 

 

_ Regelence Society Papers: _

_ A Scandal Like No Other! _

 

_Usually, this author avoids such unfashionable topics as politics and laws, but he considers it his royal duty to the ton to inform of the scandal that occurred during the first diplomatic contact with Earth._  
  
_All members of the upper chamber of the House of Lords, including the King and the King-Consort, and a few selected journalists (yours truly among them, of course) gathered in the Stargate chamber yesterday to greet Earth diplomats as well as Prince Rexley and the Marquis of Winstol, who, according to the Royal family, bravely went through the wormhole to serve as Regelence representatives. (This Author doesn't dare to doubt the Royal family's word, of course, but that story made This Author's eyebrows rise when it reached his ears. This Author only hopes that the Prince and the Marquis were properly chaperoned.)_  
  
_As the Stargate activated, the air of anxiety increased. "So exciting!" Lord Redcliff said to Lord Westwood, and This Author agreed with him. (Hopefully, dear readers, you would not think even for a moment that This Author was eavesdropping on their conversation.)  
  
The next moment, attention was diverted from Lord Redcliff and Lord Westwood to the Stargate as the strangest creature emerged out of the wormhole, making loud, inappropriate noises like nothing This Author had heard in his life.  
  
Panic rose in the chamber as the creature ran into the gathered crowd. "Shoot it, shoot it!" the elderly Lord Furcroft yelled.  
  
The next moment, the Marquis of Winstol stumbled out of the Stargate, shouting in the most inappropriate for a young gentleman manner, "Puppy, puppy, come back!" and chased after the creature. (Scandalous! Everyone knows that young gentlemen should not move with higher speed than thirty steps a minute!)  
  
As Prince Rexley emerged out of the Stargate, This Author was relieved, because he always could depend on Prince Rexley to act in a manner suitable for a young gentleman and future king (except that one occasion at Lord Beverley's ball, but This Author shall not mention the unfortunate event). So nobody was more shocked than yours truly when the Crown Prince started chasing after the Marquis and the creature.  
  
In the followed chaos, almost no one noticed two gentlemen stepping out of the Stargate, whom This Author recognized as those scandalous Englorian brothers: James Kirk and Spock Grayson.   
  
James Kirk dared to look highly amused by the proceedings while his brother raised an eyebrow and — attention, gentlemen and gentlemen! — took Kirk's ungloved hand and stroked two of his fingers! This Author saw it with his own eyes. Scandalous!  
  
At that moment, a high pitched screech filled the room, and, turning his head, This Author found Lord Fulcroft gaping at his high-fashioned boots (admittedly, they are more suited for a young dandy than for a eighty-two-year-old lord), which were covered in… some fluid.  
  
Marquis of Winstol finally caught the creature by Lord Furcroft's feet, looked at Lord Furcroft's boots, then at the lord's red with fury face, and, falling against Prince Rexley, burst out laughing in most ungentlemanly manner. And His Royal Highness Prince Rexley, the Duke of Pruluce, instead of chastising his betrothed as This Author had expected, laughed at Lord Furcroft's expense before — Oh Lords! — kissing the Marquis on his cheek!  
  
This is a Scandal of the Season, gentlemen!  
  
Nevertheless, This Author is positively delighted to say that those distasteful rumors spread by those awful gossip papers appear to have been false and Prince Rexley seems to be quite fond of his betrothed. All evidence suggests that, one day, the Marquis of Winstol shall be our King-Consort.  
_  
_~~Lord help us all. [~~ edited out]_

 

The End

 

**Author's Note:**

> Technically, this is a crossover with J.L. Langley's Sci-Regency universe, but it isn't necessary to be familiar with it. Prince Rexley, Trouble, and other Regelence characters belong to J.L. Langley, and I'm just borrowing them, but if you're not familiar with the books, that's okay, because this is an AU. This fic is also heavily influenced by Stargate, but again, no previous knowledge of Stargate is required.  
> I've borrowed a few lines from My Fair Captain. They belong to J.L. Langley, not me.  
> This is a work of fan fiction, written for fun and not for profit.


End file.
